Machiavellian
by MaverickPaxAPunch
Summary: Lana struggles to escape the talons of Briarcliff while becoming a prisoner of her own mental decay. She can't help but wonder why her love, Wendy, hasn't tried to contact her. Meanwhile, a new patient withholding dark secrets who is accused of being BloodyFace's lady accomplice is admitted. Little do either of them know, bigger more drastic problems lurk beneath the filthy surface
1. Tell Me A Story

**Hello :) I will try to keep this brief. I don't own any of the original American Horror Story, Asylum characters. **

**All of your feedback is appreciated! **

**thanks! **

One

"Aren't you sleepy yet?"

"Mm-mm."

The corners of Lana's mouth peeled into the softest of smirks as her slender fingers played with the tips of the other girl's brunette hair. It was damp and sticky at the roots, the ends being shiny and soft like frayed yarn. As she pressed her cheek against Wendy's florid forehead, feeling her lashes brush delicately against her neck, she planted a kiss on her lover's knuckles before stroking over her damp hand.

"Lana, can you tell me a story?" Wendy's voice hinted coarseness as Lana's fingertips continued to curl around the ends of Wendy's hair like a kitten playing with a spool of twine.

Lana shifted, still smiling and peering down lovingly at the woman that was curled up at her side. The sheets were damp from Wendy's sweat, her feverish skin hot against Lana's slim body, but she didn't mind.

"A story. About what?" She expected a fairy tale, something her partner might read to her third graders. "Like a fairy tale?"

"No. Make up a story. About us." Wendy croaked, smiling lightly and moving her head limply to Lana's collarbone.

Lana looked adoringly at Wendy - _her _Wendy - and moved her palm to cradle the back of her lover's neck. She opened her eyes to reveal light brown irises that reminded her of chocolates from one of those cocoa advent calendars you can get around Christmas time. She leaned her head on the back of the pillow they shared, Wendy's head still resting comfortably against her shoulder.

"A story... About us," she paused, rubbing under her nose with her pinky finger, as she always did when she was thinking. "Once upon a time, Lana and Wendy lived in a house."

"I'm listening." Mumbled Wendy, yawning and licking her dry lips.

"It was a perfect house," started Lana, her voice hushed in the quiet of the late evening - or early morning, however one might look at it. "There was a pretty little trellis by the back entrance. The kind we saw - remember that garden we visited last spring? The one with the flowers climbing up it. Like Jack and the Beanstalk."

Wendy smiled crookedly and her eyes fluttered open again, rolling up to meet Lana's. "I remember."

Lana nodded, gently scratching her nails on Wendy's bare arm. "Yeah. And lots of other flowers were planted in the front." She had already told this story to her girlfriend many times tonight as she tried to fall asleep. She had told this story enough times that she knew it like the back of her hand.

"Those would be beautiful." Wendy agreed, sighing deeply. "What about the children... Did Lana and Wendy have children?"

"The children?" Lana nearly croaked, brushing her own dark hair off of her pale forehead. "Where do I start?"

"What were their names?"

Lana closed her eyes and when she opened them again, she was watching the shadow of the curtain flapping against the open window. She had opened it before she slipped into bed so Wendy could be cooler, and by now, the middle of the night, it was getting chilly. She curled the blanket up to her chest, making sure at least part of it was tucked around Wendy's torso even if she was burning up.

"Their daughter was named Evelyn. Evelyn Marie."

Wendy moved her head onto Lana's chest. "They called her Ev."

She gulped, nodding. "They called her Ev. She was beautiful. Wendy carried her." With that, she slid her hand underneath the blankets to rest overtop of Wendy's smooth stomach. She could feel the woman shudder underneath her palm, probably at the coolness of her girlfriend's touch. Lana paused for a moment, thinking of a child. A child that would be _theirs_, no matter what.

"She had Wendy's big brown eyes," she continued, gently stroking over Wendy's brow as the other woman waited patiently for her to go on. Lana wondered if she had finally fallen into a feverish sleep but she stirred and curled her fingers weakly in her palm. "And she was so beautiful. Even as a baby, anybody was able to tell how beautiful she was. And so kind, like you, baby." Continuing to stroke over her hairline, she planted soft kisses along her ear and whispered, "Evelyn was just like you."

"But Todd," whispered Wendy hoarsely through her sore throat. She hadn't been able to talk for the last couple days, but plenty of tea had done the trick. Lana wasn't exactly a barista but she could dunk a tea bag in hot water. "He was just like you." Slowly, Lana felt Wendy's smooth hand snaking underneath the hem of her thin nightgown. Lana shuddered as she gently prodded at one of her most sensitive areas, her inner thighs, sliding her palm to rest just below Lana's belly button.

"Honey," begged Lana, smiling and pressing her cheek to Wendy's head.

"He'd be just like you," repeated Wendy weakly, letting her imagination whisk her away as she lay ill in Lana's arms. She had a particularly strong immune system but every school year she'd bring home something. She was a teacher, so it was a natural thing to happen. Lana liked to take care of her; Wendy was so sensitive, beautiful, _soft. _

"Lana would carry Todd," whispered Wendy as a breeze blustered the curtains even more, sending a chilly breeze through the room. Lana thought about getting up to close it but Wendy seemed so comfortable in her arms. She decided against it. "He was younger than Evelyn, but he'd still be protective of his sister. In the fall, they would jump off the porch steps into piles of leaves." Wendy's eyes were closed as a smile stretched itself across her pale face. "Lana and Wendy would sit on the porch steps and drink tea. And watch them."

"Ev was just like her mother," Lana added again in a mantra, desperate to keep the story alive, brushing her lips against the brunette's hair.

"Like both her mothers." Corrected Wendy in her attractively low voice. "Both of them, baby."

"That's perfect." Assured Lana, biting her bottom lip to keep from smiling. It was a nice fantasy. Perfect, in fact, unsullied by the brutal truths of society. But that's all these daydreams were. _Fantasies. _Figments of their imagination that could never exist. Not in this day and age, at least. But Wendy liked to dream. Spending most of her days with eight-year-olds would do that to her, she assumed. That's probably why she was so hard with everyone beside Wendy - she worked in an office all day, surrounded by occasional coughs, sniffs, and the sound of typewriters constantly tapping away.

But she enjoyed these soft, intimate moments with her lover. Not the intense lustful periods of time that were quite plentiful, but the quiet ones where they wanted nothing more than to be as close as possible to one another. She knew full well that Wendy was a dreamer, but as a journalist, she was a realist. She saw the world as it really was all the time; ugly, twisted, and corroded with corrupted minds and prejudiced people who wouldn't give her a second look.

Sometimes she wished it was much easier. That they didn't have to closet their relationship. Keep it behind locked doors and closed shades. She simply couldn't understand why the entire neighborhood - why the entire _world _had to be shaded from the fact that they were lying in the same bed together tonight.

Wendy was on top of her smoothly, straddling her waist and stroking the length of her chin with her pinky finger. Even when she was ill, she was very attractive with the dark brown hair that framed her face in perfect curls, her splendid curves that swayed on top of Lana as Wendy crooned.

"You ever wish that could be real?." She said with slight dolefulness, teasing Lana by stroking a finger down her collarbone and over her shoulder. She knew that no one else in this world could make her feel the way Wendy did. No one.

"I do." Lana pulled her down beside her again where she gracefully fell, curling her arms around her shoulders in a feverish embrace. Lana wasn't disappointed. Wendy was sick, and there would be plenty of other intimate nights. "Why don't you get some rest?" She murmured against her lover's damp hair. "Shhh." She rocked her back and forth like a child but Wendy responded with a slight groan, burying her face in Lana's collarbone.

"That's my favorite story." Lana felt her smile against her skin and she cradled her head to her chest, shushing and cooing to her in the deep of the night. "Will you tell it again?"

Lana told the story again. This time, they added more intimate details. What their lives would be like. How they would paint Todd's nursery, what it would be like to carry their children. Wendy seemed the most interested in that. She loved children. Lana knew she loved her class second most to anything in this world.

Just as Lana was about to ask Wendy if she was awake, she felt the weight of her head on her shoulder, the familiar sound of her breath on her neck. She had finally fallen asleep to the sound of their story about their future. Lana stroked the brunette hair out of her sleeping face and positioned her own head on the pillow they now shared, staring up at the ceiling. Wendy let out more than a soft moan in her sleep, curling her fingers in Lana's palm. Lana smiled softly at the ceiling, feeling the moisture in her eyes turn to tears.

XXX

It was Sunday. At least to Lana's best knowledge it was. It could get awfully difficult to keep track of the days when everything was so repetitive. The only thing she still had left to remind her of a time where things made sense were the memories of Wendy. The woman who locked her away. Sighing and looking up towards the spiraling cathedral ceiling that ironically resembled the stairway to Heaven, she took a long drag on her cigarette and puffed the smoke towards the record machine that played that irritating song. Nothing but that devious, all-too-cheerful song.

The tune had become nothing but a distraction to Lana. There wasn't much else to do but sit there and smoke cigarettes until there were no more. At least she had her head, unlike so many here. If she had nothing else, she always told herself, _at least I still have this. _Sanity was a gift to be cherished.

Lana hadn't seen Kit in over three days. Still having her sanity, like very few here, she knew better than to think they had taken him in for "therapy". For all she knew, Kit could be concealed deep in the catacombs of Briarcliff, in solitary or strapped to a table with doctors tapping away at his skull, scooping his brain out through his nose like the Egyptians did with their dead. Lana knew Kit wasn't lucky enough to be dead.

"Lana!"

Lana responded to the sound of her name being squealed across the room in a high-pitched voice that sounded crushed into he back of the throat cavity. She held her cigarette between her index and middle finger, cocking her head behind her as Pepper skidded across the common room towards her, her worn slippers shuffling on the floor as she begged Lana for a playmate.

Pepper was years older than herself, for all she knew, but she acted so much like a child. The poor woman couldn't help it. No one could help the way they were born. She could, on the other hand, help ruthlessly mirdering her sister's child.

"Wanna play?" Begged Pepper in her babyish voice. She could barely form sentences but it was easy to make out "Wanna play?" because it was a household phrase for her here at Briarcliff. Lana couldn't blame her. No one could, really. It wasn't her fault that there was nothing here to entertain her.

"Why don't you go play checkers with Bernieor something..." Suggested Lana, barely looking at the shaved-headed woman who danced beside her nervously as if she had to relieve herself. Bernie was obsessively moving his checkers in meticulous patterns from one side of the board to the other in diagonals until they were perfect, then moving them back and forth again and again with no satisfaction. He wasn't insane. Just obsessive compulsive, but his family who had put him in this place thought otherwise.

Pepper cheerfully shuffled over to the man who banged his fingers against the tattered board, hunching over in the chair across from him and sucking on her bottom lip with her large top teeth.

Lana sighed and leaned back into the couch, curling her legs underneath her. Smoke swirled around her at the finish of her cigarette and she snuffed out the stub with a crunching noise in the ashtray. There were five more in the package left open on the table and just as she stuck a fresh one between her lips and was striking a match to light it, one of the common room doors opened. She turned at the noise of a struggle; something like the sound of a rabid cat being forced into a tub of soapy water.

Two guards dressed in their usual attire restrained a young woman who was the size of a matchbox compared to Lana. Each had one of her thin arms, keeping her between them as she kicked, making childish tantrum noises as she fought against them like a mustang who didn't wish to be tamed. Lana crossed her legs and watched with slight interest, taking the unlit cigarette out from between her lips and holding it with her thumb against her palm.

New patients weren't uncommon. Two others had been brought in since Lana had been heremand they were just new fascinations for the doctors to ogle at until someone new was admitted to the asylum. They soon became old news as someone else shiny and interesting took their place.

The girl screamed in a sudden outburst, claiming most of the patients' attention. Though the guards restrained her arms well, they had no type of restraint on her legs. Suddenly, like the strike of a poisonous snake, she kicked her legs out in front of her, skidding the record player away from the wall. _Dominique _skipped, startling a few oblivious patients, and as she kicked again with white sneakers, the needle was knocked off the track, stopping the music at once.

Lana immediately heard the sounds of panic around her; Margaret started to rock her doll back and forth very quickly, enough to make it sick if it was real, and Chantelle started to bang her knees against the wall, scraping them raw when the song did not return. Everybody went senile but Lana just watched with interest.

"That's enough." Placated Sister Mary Eunice, her tone in annoyance. She knelt down to push the record player back into its place, placing the needle back on the scratched vinyl. Within a few moments of severely painful silence, the piano started to play up beats and down beats, the French words beginning to resonate through the common room. Order was soon returned and things slowly went back to normal, as much as they could be in such an abnormal place.

The young woman who kicked the record player like a raging bull seemed to have calmed herself in the grasp of the guards who now looked more irritated than ever. Lana lit the cigarette after a few beats of heavy breathing from the new patient, watching the smoke swirl towards the ceiling.

"Now," spoke Sister Mary Eunice in a soft voice, cupping the girl's chin in her hand. "Tsk, tsk," shaking her head, she forced her head up to look at her. "That's no way to act on your first day with new friends, is it?"

"Go to hell." She hissed through clenched teeth, her shoulders hunching as if she might transform into an entirely different creature. Lana didn't doubt it for a moment - she'd seen stranger things here.

"Oh, honey," the blonde nun leaned in, smiling almost so her lips touched the other girl's forehead. "We all want to go back home."

The small woman lifted her head and butted Sister Mary Eunice away. A few other patients were watching now, but not as closely as Lana. She expected another outburst but it appeared that Briarcliff had won round one.

"We can take her back to her cell, Sister." Muttered one of the guards, glaring at the patient. She seemed to have tired herself out. Lana knew that feeling.

"No," spoke the nun before anyone else could interject. "You don't want a time out before you've even got a chance to be welcomed, do you?"

There was nothing but heavy breathing from the patient.

"I don't think you want that, Jenny. Do you?"

She shook her head with a set jaw, her bangs falling sloppily into her face. She couldn't push them away because her arms were still held in vices by the guards.

"That's a good girl." Sister Mary Eunice smiled lightly, nodding for the guards to release her. Lana half expected her to explode and go off like a wild animal, mostly because it wasn't so uncommon, but she behaved, hunching over herself and staring at the floor. "Ahem," the Sister cleared her throat, though the new patient did not look up. "Don't be rude. Make friends."

As the nun strode away after giving the girl a little push on the small of her back, leaving the girl alone in the middle of the floor, she didn't look back at her as she disappeared through the doors which she had come from. The poor girl could have had a spotlight put on her, standing awkwardly there with more pieces of her hair falling into her face.

Lana leaned back, letting her cigarette smoke in her hand for a moment as she watched the girl shuffling across the floor. She wore relatively new clothes; the average denim dress with a jean collar. It was too big for her and didn't hug her body, rather hung off one of her shoulders. Lana doubted they had a gown that would fit her much better than that one. She was quite small, but not delicate looking. Lana could immediately tell she could hold her own. Her white sneakers fit a little better than the dress and goose flesh broke out on her arms from the chilly room. Lana rubbed her own arms that were clothed in her red sweater.

The girl shuffled by Pepper who was rocking back and forth with yellow yarn in her hands, tangled and like spaghetti noodles. She only gave the microcephalic a sideways glance before she stopped beside a couch that was occupied by Shelley, who had her legs stretched all the way out. She winked at the new girl, who only looked away and traipsed to the collection of seats beside Lana. She sat down stiffly, as if her limbs were made of wood while eyeing Lana - the least crazy-looking out of the bunch in the common room.

Lana gave her a small smile. It was the least she could do, after all. She might be on her side, no matter what she did to get herself in here. She was always against Sister Jude and her impish comrades.

"Hi," she tried dryly, offering her new company a cigarette. She took it in tiny, thin fingers, struggling to strike a match to light it. Finally, after the third try, she sat stiffly in her chair and took a short drag, coughing. She didn't look like much of a smoker, but then again, neither was Lana.

After a few awkward moments of silence between the two of them, Lana watched her glare loathingly at the record player that still belted _Dominique. _She'd become used to it by now and was able to block it out, but she did remember how much it killed her in the beginning to listen to the same thing over and over again. That was just another routine.

"This song fucking sucks." Muttered the girl, dragging on her cigarette. She seemed to have gotten the swing of smoking by now, at least for the time being.

Lana agreed. "It will eventually go in one ear and out the other."

"Eventually?" She scoffed as if she thought Lana was crazy. Lana set her jaw. She had a thing or two to explain to this girl if she thought she was going to rule the roost. "It doesn't matter, I'll be out of here soon. I won't have to get used to it."

Lana reached for another cigarette but decided against it, snuffing out the stub in the ashtray. She remembered a time where she thought Wendy would come and rescue her, like she was a princess trapped in the dragon's lair. An ignorant, naive princess. Wendy hadn't even visited. She locked her away. Probably forever. Lana swallowed her bile and cocked her head at the new girl.

"Everyone thinks that," she shrugged. There was a time where she might have let her down easy, but it just slipped out, like most things these days. "Until days turn into months."

"That how it is here with you lunatics?" She scoffed, holding her cigarette between both fingers. She was quite pretty, Lana noticed. Even with her hair tangled and her face unwashed, she had ideal features. Straight white teeth and light brunette hair with blonde streaks left over from the summer. "It doesn't matter how long I'm here."

Lana agreed to disagree silently but offered her name. "I'm Lana."

The other girl did not accept her hand, staring into Lana's waiting eyes questioningly instead of greeting her. "Jen." After a pause, she turned her head away and stared across the room at nothing. Lana assumed she wouldn't be getting much more conversation with Jen today so she pushed herself up from the sofa and strode towards the doors.

"I think I'll go and lie down." She assured the guard, and he let her pass. She strode down the long hallways that were once confusing to the women's ward where her cell was. It felt so much like a prison. She assumed that the cells were once used to house the sickest of tuberculosis patients back when the manor was a cure house. The ones who they didn't want to catch anything from. That's what they treated the patients like now. Like they might catch something from them.

She sat on her bed and felt the creak of springs underneath her, closing her eyes. It smelled like sweat and bile down here, and as she lay back her head sunk into the tough pillow. Sometimes when she tried to fall asleep she remembered what it was like to sleep in her own bed. Her and _Wendy's _bed. Wendy's arms around her, soft breath against her neck. Her fingers drawing patterns on the bare small of her lover's back as she cooed to her in the night.

This bed was nothing like that. The equivalency of straw and sticks that did horror for her posture. Her lullaby the howls of deranged patients and screaming coming from God knows where. Sometimes she curled into a ball and shuddered, closing her eyes. But it was never with fear anymore. She didn't fear Briarcliff, she knew what it really was.

"Wendy?" She spoke mostly to herself, gulping. She only ever talked to Wendy, wherever she was, when she was in private. She was already locked inside an asylum to rot, how much more crazy could they believe she was? "I miss you. I wish you'd..." She paused as she heard a shuffle down the hall, followed by a whisper. She ignored it. She had left the door open so she wouldn't be accidentally locked in.

She closed her eyes, thinking about Briarcliff's newest patient. As it usually went, most of the newbies were criminals who prisons couldn't handle, more had some psychological illness their family thought could be cured by - therapy. She wondered what she'd done to get herself locked up. She certainly wasn't a charmer, that was for sure. But then again, neither was Lana.

She closed her eyes tighter, trying not to let any tears escape. She told herself, she told herself weeks ago that she wasn't going to let herself cry over Wendy. She forgot all about her, locked in this institution. Maybe hadn't even given her a second thought. Not even after what they went through. What they were together.

Lana felt a tear escape the corner of her eye, sliding coldly down her cheek. She wanted more than anything to have Wendy's comforting arms around her, her lips at the base of her shoulder. The special spot where Wendy kissed her, right where her shoulder and neck connected. She couldn't cry. She simply couldn't. She knew she had to be tough, so why was she crying?

It wasn't okay to cry, especially after all she'd already been through. She was a big girl. A strong girl. But why did she always falter? Why did she always wish to be so weak, fall into Wendy's warm embrace, delicate kisses - these conflicting emotions. How many times she wished they didn't have to hide their relationship behind locked doors, closed curtains. It was like shoving a key under the mat but she would give anything for a mere taste of what they had together. A taste of when Wendy called her baby.

She missed Wendy's voice. The soft murmur in the morning as she turned her head on the pillow to find her there. Always. There was nothing compared to the feeling of Wendy's fingers tangled in her messy hair. It didn't seem fair that she was trapped here with murderers, rapists, mental patients who hallucinated, carried dolls around, banged their heads against walls. She hoped it was worth it to Wendy. But somehow, now, she still forgave her.

Lana closed her eyes even tighter still, biting her chapped lower lip, curling her fist against the pillow. It wasn't even evening yet and she felt so exhausted, so drained like she was already half a ghost.

XXX

This was fucking ridiculous. The bakery smelled like yeast and bacteria, the horrible smell of disinfectant and dirty bodies. Jen scoffed at the pile of dough in front of her.

"What the hell am I fucking supposed to do with this?" She called to the nun working at the oven. She wore a slightly charred oven mitt to reach in to retrieve a large wooden pallet filled with loaves of perfect bread. Jen hoped her damn rosary would catch on fire.

The nun, who she'd been hearing some people call Sister Doris, wiped the sweat from her brow and looked at Jen with concern. Jen didn't care. They could try to "save" her all they wanted, but there was nothing wrong with her. Nothing to be saved.

"You see how Pepper does it?" Sister Doris said sweetly, trying to be patient. Pepper gave her a buck toothed grin across the table and rocked back and forth, kneading the dough with her large, cro-magnon-like hands. Jen certainly did _not _return the smile, if you could call it one. She didn't like the ugly pin head knowing how to do something she didn't. It made her feel stupid, which she certainly wasn't.

"I'll figure it out." She snapped, pushing the nun's hands away with disgust. She already hated the bakery. It gave the faint aura of a concentration camp, what with the dim lighting and large ovens. She was sent here this evening, her second day here. This was supposed to be therapeutic apparently, but kneading bread dough was anything but relaxing as the radio faintly played _Chain Gang._ Sam Cooke belted the lyrics as Jen stabbed at her raw hunk of dough as if she were Bloody Face himself.

She wondered when she'd get to see Bloody Face. After all, he was here. In the same asylum. As her. He didn't scare her, though. Not one little bit. They probably had him in solitary, she told herself. Made sense. Can't have a psycho killer roaming the hallways of a mental institution. There were even psychos of the psychosomatic. But she wasn't one of them.

"Turn that up," ordered Jen to the pin head, who was still working the lump of dough with her hands. It took her a few moments to comprehend before Jen nodded with annoyance to the radio that sat behind her. The other patients barely looked up from their bread as Pepper turned the dial on the radio. It needed to be immediately made clear that Pepper was her bitch now.

_Hit the road Jack and don't cha come back no more no more no more no more, hit the road Jack, and don't cha come back no more..._

_Old woman, old woman, oh you treat me so mean, you're the meanest old woman that I've ever seen,_

_Well I guess if you say so, I'll just have to pack my things and go. _

"Sing, sing!" Squealed Pepper excitedly, nodding up and down and sucking on her bottom lip with her big teeth.

"Listen up," Jen muttered, tossing her dough aside. "I'd like to dedicate this song to the assholes who locked me away in this hellhole."

"Jennifer." Sister Doris warned, but Jen ignored her, singing quietly to herself underneath the music.

"Now baby, listen baby, don't you treat me this way, cause I'll be back on my feet someday," She muttered under her breath to the horrified nun who was trying to wrangle a very excited Pepper who clapped and howled at her newest friend. The other patients mumbled random words to the song too, depressed and diluted tones filling up the room. Her bread dough was covered in dust from her hands but she didn't care - crazy people wouldn't be able to tell the difference between good and bad bread.

"Get back to work." Insisted the nun in charge of them, going back to tending the oven and leaving them alone.

Jen was silent now when the nun changed the radio to opera. Obviously the other patients couldn't handle the modern music. Jen hated opera. Sighing, she stuck her elbow in the dough and stared at the swinging light fixture that distributed light across various places in the dim, damp room. It seemed like hours passes as she watched the nun disappear back into the kitchen to prepare plates for supper. She tried her best to be a diligent worker, making her bread dough like the other lunatics.

"Alright everyone, shift's over." A male orderly called, brushing his floury hands off on his apron. "Let's head to the common room before lights out. Aprons hung to the left, we'll all go together."

They did all that they were told with a little help to the more loopy inmates, and Jen hung her apron on one of the leftover hooks, pushing Pepper away with the heel of her hand harshly. The orderly turned off the lights and herded the group out, counting knives one by one. Jen ducked behind a storage shelf and waited until the guard was ushering out the last of his pitiful subjects.

She got up from her crouch behind the shelf and paced to into the utility room where she saw the Sister carry a stack of metal trays and found herself surrounded by rows of kitchen supplies. She shuddered at the sudden coldness of the room and looked back to make sure the others were still leaving. She slipped into the main kitchen where a few other patients prepared plates, slopping - whatever that was - onto plates and distributing bread. One of them, a girl with slightly shaggy Carmel hair, looked up at her but didn't give her a second glance.

Looking around the kitchen, she located a drawer of silverware that had been left open. Jen slinked to the counter and eyes the large bread knives sitting out in the open, just waiting for her. Waiting for her. She picked one up and slipped it into the deep pocket of her baggy dress.

"What's that you have there, Jenny?" Sister Mary Eunice smiled seductively at Jen, who dropped the knife with a clatter, wheeling around. The nun caught her wrist, raising her delicate eyebrows, trying to look innocent but her icy blue eyes said otherwise.

She winked at Jen. "Look at you, hot stuff."

Jen's heart was racing a million miles a minute. She never knew why she acted so brave when all she really was was afraid.

Sister Mary Eunice smoothed down the front of her robe, waiting for her to say something. "Jenny?"

Jen started to back away from her piercing eyes, stumbling backward onto her behind, backing away on the dirty floor and into the counter. Sister Mary Eunice, surprisingly strong, dragged her forcefully from the room rather than calling guards to do it while the patients on kitchen duty watched diligently without a word. Jen struggled like a wildcat, scratching and clawing, making animal like noises, but the nun seemed unfazed by her behavior, dragging her up flights of stairs.

"Sister Jude," she spoke through clenched teeth, holding Jen under her arm. She was so child sized and it was so easy, like holding onto a struggling toddler throwing a tantrum. She opened the door, throwing the victim onto the floor and closing it after her. Sister Jude, a rather erect nun with her hands folded in front of her, stood at the window, crossing over to the squirming struggler on the ground that spluttered like a fish out of water.

"Jennifer..." Sister Mary Eunice shook her head, stepping on her hand. Jen let out a pained cry and rocked herself on the floor, pressing her chin to the floor rug in pain. "Sister Jude, our newest patient has been quite the rebel."

Sister Jude shook her head, her piercing eyes trained on the crying subject. She felt like one of Henry the Eighth's wives that was about to be executed. For some reason, she felt like she might be crucified by the woman. She had a very strong presence.

"You'll learn here at Briarcliff that your actions have consequences." She crossed to a large cabinet on the wall, one that reminded Jen of one she might keep pool rods in. She gulped as Sister Jude chose a thin cane that was washed a light birch color. To her surprise and astonishment, the nun forced her up off the ground and with a grunt, threw up her dress to expose her bare backside. Jen cringed and moaned out a name, any name, desperately.

"Lana!" She screamed, searching for an ally. The only one she knew the name of. That was her name, wasn't it? The one sitting patiently, putting up with everyone's shit. The only one who didn't have _crazy _in their eyes. "HELP ME! Please, no, Lana! don't let them do this to me! Please, sister, NO-"

Sister Jude laughed slightly. "You think miss - _Lana Banana _is going to help you? That cub of a woman's been in here plenty of times herself. Repent for your sins, Jennifer, and maybe my God will allow you a second chance."

"Please. _Don't." _She begged one last time, though she knew it was too late.

She only heard the swish of the switch against the air as it came up, and felt the stinging whack of the wooden blade as it smacked her in the behind. It was even harder than she expected. Crying out, she let out a choked sob and reached for something, anything. She gripped the Bible that lay on Sister Jude's desk, holding onto it for dear life.

"Lana, please! Please, help me! No, oh-! Help!" She begged, but that stranger Lana wasn't coming for her. No one was.

**Fact: Jen is 4'11"**

**Fact: Wendy named Todd after her favorite college professor, while Evelyn is Lana's favorite name after Evelyn Laye **

**I got the idea from my awesome sister to do facts at the end of each chapter, so thanks to her for that idea, and I hope you learn a little bit more about the characters :) **

**please let me know what you think, and if you have any suggestions or ideas for me, that'd be great! I'd be glad to pm you :) I promise it gets better, please let me know what you think **

**the song Jen sings is Hit the Road Jack, by Ray Charles. I don't own it :) **


	2. Reality Challenged

Two

There was no noise outside of the cell. There hadn't been for the past few hours, or as long as it actually had been. Kit couldn't tell the difference between minutes and hours by now. Everything was gray, a heather world of shadows and insidious monsters that lurked in the bowels of Briarcliff.

He sighed and leaned the back of his head against the wall, staring at the never ending ceiling. It reminded him of some type of belfry, infested with bats and creepy crawlies. That was enough to send a shudder through his body, though a lot of things here did. It wasn't exactly a warm and cuddly place. In fact, anything but. Cold, dark, he could feel something dripping onto his head.

Kit scooted away from the leak, wherever it was coming from, using his elbows to pull himself along the length of the concrete floor that smelled of urine and filth. He'd been in the dark for quite a while; his arms were restrained in the lattice, crossed over each other and tucked in like pigs in a blanket underneath the dirty straight jacket. With a grunt, he hoisted himself up against the stone wall - at least he thought it was stone - using his neck to scale the damp cobblestones. His eyes had adjusted to the black by now, rather seeing a pale gray, almost blue. He wondered if this was what it felt like to be blind.

It was almost hard to remember what light looked like - _felt _like, even after only four days. Or was it five? He lost count. The only thing that had any meaning to time were the thumps outside his cell, which happened every two or three hours. When he first was thrown in here, he was very careful to count how long it was between each session of banging, but by now, it barely mattered. For all he knew, he could be in here for weeks more.

His meals came in during the night, or at least he assumed it was night, because no light was shed into the cell when the hatch door opened. As he scaled the wall, his shoes smooshed something grimy and sticky. Yesterday's meal, which he hadn't touched, aside from the bread. He didn't trust anything, aside from that. He knew Grace made that bread. She was always assigned kitchen duty.

Grace...

He audibly grunted and leaned against the back wall to rest. Kit's best guess was that he was against the wall directly facing the door, which remained closed. Panting and clenching his toes up and down in his white sneakers that were damp with mildew, he rested from exhaustion; it had taken an awful lot of his energy just to pull himself up off the ground. It was anything but graceful, but no one could see him anyway. Not even he could see him.

"Come on, Mr. Walker," Kit panted, feeling a droplet of sweat roll down his temple as his abdominal muscles flexed underneath the taut material of the canvas jacket. He didn't need to talk to himself, but sometimes it was nice to hear his own voice. Vital, to be exact. He hadn't heard any voice but his own for the duration of his lock down.

The only noises were the banging which he used to keep time, the scrape against cobblestone as his plate was slid through the chute, and his own voice. Sometimes that even seemed to echo and bounce across the walls.

What had happened to Lana? He sighed and let his breath out, feeling it freeze in the air before him. It crystallized on his lip and he stooped down, sitting with his knees up in the middle of the floor. The middle was the warmest part of the room, so that was where he huddled. The jacket, very restrictive, yes, did very little to keep him warm. There wasn't any heat in the building - it was much too old of a place, and besides... there wasn't anyone to give a damn anyway.

God, it seemed so long since he'd had a cigarette. He would even would have taken one of those cheap ones that they rolled up and gave to Pepper when she wouldn't stop bothering them. Poor little thing didn't even understand cigarettes and ended up chewing on the paper. It was pitiful to watch, but Kit's aching, cold body longed for anything to keep him warm.

He closed his eyes and nodded off, wondering what it looked like outside the cell. It was only a brief second that he was able to survey his surroundings before two guards threw him in and clapped off the lights with the suddenness of a lightbulb exploding and leaving sparks of shed light all over the room. Everything seemed slightly vague; he remembered everything that happened, everything that got him in here. Solitary.

Solitary made it seem like voices in his head bounded back and forth between the walls, suffocating in his own breath that clouded on his lashes and the shuffle of canvas against his neck. It was barely worth it to struggle against the "special coat", as Sister Jude had called it, anymore. He didn't struggle much to begin with, but in fits of gnarly anger, he attempted to shred the thing off, tearing at it with his teeth. His spit would only freeze, leaving him with a cold neck and chattering teeth.

Kit. Kit Walker. Bloody Face.

Hot damn, he was tired of hearing people call him that. He didn't touch those ladies. It didn't seem possible for the human mind to block out so much information. It just didn't - make sense, nothing did around here. It seemed, though, that there were medical marvels he was learning about every day more that he spent at the institution.

It was enough to drive a man off the edge, or what there was left of an edge. They took everything the could from him and then some, trying to claim his sanity had been robbed and he decapitated and skinned a bunch of people. The psychological side of human nature was new to him, something he had to nurture, but he just couldn't afford that Dr. Arden's way of thinking. Not after what he did to him.

With that thought, he felt a sudden sting of pain in his neck from the incision. It was mostly healed, from what he could tell, but it still stung of iodide and disinfected medical supplies.

_Tumpta, tumpta, tump. _

Kit looked up in the darkness; the thump had returned, quieter, but indignant enough to cause a commotion. Maybe that marked another hour, but Kit suddenly remembered that he hadn't been keeping track for the past few days. The noises continued until he heard a new sound - jingling. He was sure it had to be keys!

The cell door swung open and light blinded him like a white haven, though he wasn't quite sure what was coming, or who was coming. Kit fell back onto one of his restrained elbows, trying to catch his fall, but his head crashed clumsily against one of the plates of untouched mush that he had refused to eat yesterday. Part of the foul smelling stuff that was surely growing mold by now splattered in his hair as he struggled desperately to regain his balance. His eyes adjusted to the light.

The figure in the doorway was tall and slender, a silhouette that he hadn't expected, and as his eyes adjusted, he could make out a face framed in a pair of Ronsir spectacles, which clouded dark brown irises that resembled a hunter in the dark. Dr. Thredson smiled softly with pity. Kit blinked insistently, trying to clear the bright spots from his vision; it would take days to get used to the light, as it had taken days to become adjusted to such a dark place.

"Doc?" Kit called, almost too loudly. He has been listening to his voice for a few days too long and was oblivious to the fact that it could possibly be too loud. "You here to get me outa here?"

Dr. Thredson chuckled softly, answering in a friendly but stern voice. "I don't believe in Sister Jude's- inhumane forms of... Punishment," he paused, leaning onto the ground so his knees were bent and he was crouching at Kit's level. He looked rather uncomfortable and nervous, Kit noticed. His dark eyebrows were furrowed underneath the cumbersome rim of his spectacles and worry lines formed on his face. "You haven't been eating?"

Kit leaned uncomfortably up onto his elbow, struggling with chattering teeth to remain in a somewhat upright position. "You expect me to touch that stuff?"

Thredson agreed silently, taking a gander at the stacked, dirty greenish plates. The bread had been removed and eaten, of course, and skidded off in the corner was a hunk of the floury stuff that Kit remembered losing in the dark some time ago. Huh, guess he found it now. It looked even more unappetizing in the light.

"I'm sorry to see you like this," he said sadly, observing the dirty cell and Kit's lack of physical freedom. _Damn straight, _he thought, but his stomach suddenly flipped. Did that tone mean that Dr. Thredson meant to leave him here again? Was this just another one of Sister Jude's torturous games?

"Wouldn't have to stay like this much longer if you'd get me out." He muttered, mostly to himself as he heaved against the canvas cast encircling his body. Straps constricted his back and went down between his groin, making it even more impossible and uncomfortable.

Kit awaited his answer in chattering silence as Dr. Thredson moved back to his original position by the door. His heart skipped a beat as he realized he was probably going to leave. But he wouldn't do that. Would he? He listened to him. He had a heart. And he knew what was going on inside Kit's head, it seemed, even when _Kit _didn't know what was going on.

"Listen, doc, I'll - I'll be good, I _am _good. That little scruff - look, it was a mistake." He babbled desperately, trying not to sound too desperate. He couldn't possibly stand another week in a dungeon, getting up to stretch his legs so they wouldn't fall asleep every hour.

"I understand, Kit. I do." His soft smile was reassuring. "I don't agree with many of the things that Sister Jude allows to go on here, but I do agree that your actions repercuss. It isn't exactly helping your case," He paused, seeming to study the pattern of damp cobblestones on the walls. "By bruising another man in the common room. Don't you think you should be on your best behavior?"

How many times did Kit have to explain to this guy - any guy, that he didn't do anything? He sighed. It wasn't worth it. No one listened to him anyway.

"Look, I didn't mean that. I beat up plenty of guys before I was in here. No, no, don't use that against me." He muttered, wiping his runny nose on the rough sleeve of his casing. There was a smeared stain already there from hours of doing this and his nose was rubbed raw. "I meant to say..."

"I won't hold anything against you." Promised the doctor, taking Kit gingerly by the crook of the arm, pulling him carefully up. "A good man protects his best interests, does he not?"

Kit struggled out of habit to try and brush himself off, only to soon recall that his arms were restrained. He muttered a thanks and sniffed, trying to squint at the light that came through the door. Damn, it looked like Heaven it was so bright. Or something else...

Suddenly, Kit was back on that table. Everything was white accept for a gray hand reaching for him, _inside _of him, and it didn't stop until his screaming did.

It felt like his head was plunged into water and he opened his eyes, only to see the concerned therapist standing in front of him.

Kit blinked a few times, swaying. No words came out of his mouth when he opened it besides a mumble that clouded up like a foggy glass.

"Kit?" Thredson's voice returned him to reality as he gripped the patient's shoulder.

He shook his head. "Sorry."

"There's no need to be." Nodded the doctor, carefully pushing his restrained patient into the bright corridor. Kit squinted and stared at his feet, shuffling as Dr. Thredson guided him with a firm hand, who reached behind him to pull the heavy door shut. He was freeing him, at least from this pit of darkness. Kit sighed, blowing his hair off his forehead with a forceful breath.

XXX

"I'm not talking to you."

"Alright," Dr. Thredson was setting up a recorder, a fancy new looking one. The kind you didn't even have to crank to record something. It looked pretty futuristic and retro, what with its fancy knobs and screws. "Fair enough. But this is part of your placement therapy."

Jen slumped back in her chair and rocked back in it like a rebel schoolgirl. The soft restraints around her wrist probably weren't tight enough. With a little effort, hiding her hands under the table, she could slip out of them. No. This wasn't the time. But being small came with an advantage for her. Nothing of the "average" size was small enough for her. She could worm her way out of these prison clothes and slither out completely naked if she wanted to.

"Placement therapy," she scoffed, rolling her eyes at the "therapist", the sorry man who'd been assigned her case. Where else would they take her other than Briarcliff? Were there other Boston area sanitariums, or would they just relocate her to a convent to beg mercy for her sins?

"I know you don't believe so now," the doctor, or so he claimed to be, moved his pen gracefully between his pale fingers, adjusting the glasses on his nose with the other hand, "And I know I'm inconveniencing you at the moment-"

"Inconvenience? What exactly were you inconveniencing me from? Romping in the bath houses with that whore, Shelley? Or was it playing cat's cradle with Parrot-Face-Pin-Head? Tell me, doctor. I know you must be busy, meeting with - other crazies, really crazy people who aren't in here for whatever shit I did. Like Bloody Face. Why aren't you with him? He clearly needs some help."

Dr. Thredson acted as if they were discussing the weather conditions, stretching and returning to his original erect position in the chair. He was too suave. The doctor even _smelled _professional. "It might be helpful to review your social information. Would that be alright with you?"

Jen shrugged and shivered, wishing she had something other than her baggy dress and dog-eared sneakers.

"Correct me if I'm wrong," he stated, adjusting his glasses and holding a paper out in front of him. Jen could read some of the letters through the back. _Consent, _and _legality, _along with a signature blacked in ink and indenting the page. "Jennifer Ellen Autumn. How am I doing so far?"

"S'well." Muttered the patient, as pissed as ever. It already hurt enough to sit down for more than ten minutes, and here she was now, sitting across the table from Bloody Face's therapist.

"Born in 1938. You grew up in Boston." Dr. Thredson's eyes rolled up questioningly and Jen did not disagree.

"I know you don't give a shit about me." She leaned forward, clenching her fists in her restraints. They were made of leather and some type of wool, the best materials to prevent her from harming herself. She could find a way if she really wanted to. There were plenty of ways to hurt yourself if you really tried. "No one does here, do they? You think every part of me you know, you hold me in a Manila folder with my _name _on it." She was surprised that she actually laughed, biting her lip so hard she tasted something metallic in the back of her throat.

Dr. Thredson leaned forward, closing his hands one on top of the other. Jen hated how he looked at her. Like he thought he understood. "There are several types of therapies here that attempt to cure patients," he suggested casually, but Jen knew what he was getting at. She had already heard the nightly screams that came and went like tidal waves, washing up to the beach shore. Jen scowled.

"I'm not telling you anything about me until you spill your guts."

Something like the hint of a smile played at his lips, but it soon turned into a grimace. "Alright. I feel that it is vital to tell you about my experience and education before we move forward with our sessions. I spent four years in medical school and another four in residency, where I was a psychologist."

"Why psychology?" Jen asked, pushing her leg up and resting the sole of her shoe on the desk between them.

He looked between his spectacles at her, to make sure she was listening. "The human brain has always fascinated me. The way it works, the way each mind works." Simply, he tied it off with a curt nod towards her, reassuringly. She didn't need reassuring.

"Funny how you ended up in a place full of mush heads."

Thredson actually smiled, showing perfect white teeth. He was actually attractive, in a nerdy sort of way, but Jen didn't feel any attraction to him at all, especially since his poker was awfully close to scorching her with his _Dr. Oliver Thredson, PhD_ mark. "Some say mush heads, I say reality-challenged."

She raised a curious eyebrow. "What other kind of therapies do _you _do?"

He shifted. "Classifieds. Individual sessions, along with aversion and conversion therapy."

Jen's skin crawled. Neither of those sounded very nice. "Aversion and conversion?"

"I don't find it vital, Miss Autumn, to discuss your curiosities at the moment. Now, we are here for _your _session." He tossed her file aside, or at least that's what she assumed it was, and folded his hands on his stomach. "I'd like to start with Elliot."

Jen's fingers clenched together and she let the sound of her knuckles cracking resonate. She hoped the whole lot of crazies heard them. "You _don't," _she growled deep in her throat with a clenched jaw, "Know a _thing _about him."

Outside, a light rain had begun to fall, the sun completely banished.

"Do you remember when you started talking to yourself, Miss Autumn?" Gently spoke the therapist, but Jen fought the tears and biting words. This wasn't the first time anyone had asked her, especially not a doctor. Plenty of them had asked her up and down Boston. They could ask her the question all day every day, she didn't care.

"I never talk to myself." She spit back, trying to sound rude, though her tears just made it sound like mucus and soap.

"Patient complains of severe head pain," read Dr. Thredson from a slip of paper he had retrieved from the desk behind him where he tossed her paperwork. "Consistently mutters to herself. Interacts with things that are not in existence. Does that sound familiar to you, Miss Autumn?"

Jen fought hard against spitting on him, and in the end controlled herself. "Fuck you."

Dr. Thredson sighed. "We have quite a ways to go, don't we, Miss Autumn?"

"I don't belong here."

"I don't decide who belongs here," he said with pity rather than the harsh coldness she expected. "I only treat them to the best of my ability."

"You're lying." She hissed, though she didn't know why. "You can't treat someone when there isn't anything to treat."

"Oh? Everyone has something to treat." Leaning back, he lit a long cigarette and puffed on the end of it, letting the smoke create dismal patterns in the dark room as rain pounded against the roof. It wasn't enough to be a storm, but it was awfully noticeable. "Smoke?" He offered Jen a cigarette and she obliged, letting him use his own to light it for her. She set her restrained hands in her lap.

"Why does Sister Jude play that song over and over again?"

Dr. Thredson looked up, smoke encircling his head. "Pardon me?"

"That song. Something about 'Dominique, ique, ique'. Why does it play all the time?"

The man dragged on his cigarette almost gracefully, in a practiced manor. "Therapeutic. Everything here is therapeutic."

"Like the cells?"

"I don't run the institution, of course. Therefore, I'm not in charge of anything of the sort. I'm court ordered to be a therapist to certain patients here and I have a practice outside of Briarcliff." He paused. "But I don't agree with the cells."

"No one deserves to be locked up like an animal or abused in - that way." She shuddered, feeling a sudden pang of guilt and sadness for the others who were there long before her.

"Briarcliff keeps the killers off the streets." Added the man, looking up coyly. "How else would they be contained?"

"Prison."

"They're in need of a lot more than prison." He assured her, rising and crossing to the window to watch the rain. "They need guidance. Help."

"I don't need help. Or guidance."

"Do you know what you need, Jennifer?" He asked her truly, though she found it a tricky question.

"I want to go home."

"I hate to have to be the one to break this to you," Thredson spoke very softly, but also factfully. "This is your home now."

She repeated, "I don't belong here. People like Bloody Face belong here. Not people like me."

He looked intrigued. "People like you?"

Jen shivered again. "Normal people."

"Normal for you mayn't be normal for someone else. Everyone may have an entirely opposite reality."

"I _am _normal. Actual-person normal, not your fucked up psychologist-normal. I went to school until I graduated. I got my diploma. I got myself a job. What's so abnormal about that?"

Thredson leaned back. "Having a diploma has nothing to do with which foot is over reality and which one is sinking into a pit of damaging experience. I know you're very smart, Jen. May I call you that?"

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She'd been sitting down for too long already and her behind and lower back were starting to ache unconditionally. There had to be a perfect medium between moving too much and moving too little. "You can call me whatever you want, it isn't going to change anything."

"Alright. Jen." He added in a much softer tone, underneath the undertones of the rain splitting against the roof and rushing into the courtyard. It was mid fall now, so the trees were shedding their leaves after turning bright colors of augmented orange, red, yellow. Jen hated fall. It was too messy and she never had time to clean it up.

Dr. Thredson cleared his throat. "You're probably one of the most normal people I know here."

"Liar."

"I can assure you, I speak with patients in more - dire conditions every day. Even outside of Briarcliff. People more deserving of being inside these walls." The ceiling creaked and the doctor looked up as if he expected something to fall through it, but Jen didn't been fidget.

"But here I am." She muttered, more to herself, but Dr. Thredson nodded in agreement.

"The allegations against you are quite fierce. Are you aware of these?"

Her greasy hair fell into her face, but there was nothing she could do about it. She took a drag on her useless, burned cigarette and puffed upward. "I'm aware."

"Do you agree with them?"

"I didn't kill anyone." She said without blinking, scratching at her dry tongue with her top teeth. "You can sit here and call me crazy for as long as you like, but - if there's one thing I'm not... That's a murderer."

"Your case has certain similarities to Kit Walker," he raised his eyebrows and peered at her through his thick lenses. It made her wonder how blind he was.

Jen actually laughed. "Similarities? You really think I have the nads to kill chicks? Skin 'em like squirrels?" There was nothing this doctor could do to convince her she was a killer. "I got the same amount of balls as the Beach Boys combined, and that's not a lot."

He leaned forward. "Oh?"

"You wanna hear my falsetto?" She suggested, glaring at him afterward in silence.

"It just seems suspicious to me," continued he doctor, "And I do have the same concerns as the public."

"Oh, you wanna talk about my fifteen minutes of fame?" She spluttered, forgetting she was wearing restraints and trying to throw her arms out. In her best reporter voice, she started to act like those smootzes she saw on television. "Bloody Face may be locked up, but is his right hand woman? Jennifer Autumn was taken into custody just this morning for the accompanied murdering of Alma Walker." She finished, picking at a hangnail. "How was that?"

"Did you murder her?"

"I've never even heard of Kit Walker till I heard his name on the radio. Barely even know what he looks like." She was truthful. She never saw the man in his life and she certainly hadn't seen his wife.

"Interesting how both you and Mr. Walker claim to be framed."

"I'm not Mrs. Bloody Face," she growled, pulling at her cuffs. She was sure she could get them off if she tried. "Those are accusations."

"Jen, all of the signs are there," he argued. "If you confess to me during our first session, so many things would be so much easier."

"If you're trying to pick the brain of a serial killer, go talk to Walker." Jen mumbled, pressing her chin to her collarbone. "You don't have any proof."

"I might not need any."

"You think you know who I am? Most of these doctors - they don't care about us, whatever happens to us is just 'God's will'. Tell me, doctor, is it God's will that I'm trapped in here like a rat in a maze simply because I'm accused of being Bloody Face's sexy female accomplice?"

"Are you?"

"No."

"Did you kill Alma?"

_"No."_

"Then why was her body found wearing your clothing?"

"You can't prove it was her, that body didn't have a head-"

"None of them did, Jen."

Her fingers clenched around the arm rest of the chair, creating a creaking noise. "I never killed anyone. Not Alma, not any of those ladies. I'm not Lady Bloody Face, if you think you're going to get me to confess to that so you can build up a case for me. All I know is that the entire media thinks I am and I'm locked away in here like an animal in a petting zoo."

"Perhaps you and Mr. Walker have that in common." The doctor suggested, finishing his cigarette and crushing the butt in an ashtray.

"I don't have anything in common with Bloody Face." Nearly growling, she clenched the arm of the chair again. "I'm no killer. And the trouble is... I'm not crazy."

"Just trapped." He said softly, nodding as if in understanding. "Everyone here is a little trapped, don't you think, Jen?"

"You don't care what I think."

"I think a little compassion can go a long way."

Jen was silent.

"Alright. We can try something new." He said as though he was reaching into his back of tricks. "What does the name Peyser mean to you?"

Jen realized her eyes were closed and when she reopened them, Thredson was awaiting her answer.

"Peyser?" She whispered under her breath. Something seemed familiar with that name, it was on the tip of her tongue. She just couldn't place it. Jen decided to lie. "That doesn't sound familiar at all." After pausing for what seemed like too long, she shook her head quickly, nervously, and blinked rapidly.

He lit another cigarette and nodded, puffing on the smoke. It smelled like formaldehyde and tobacco rather than the sweetish candy scent she was used to. Peyser... It was like she'd recited it a million times in a dream but couldn't remember it when she woke up.

"Seeing as you aren't quite ready to talk," spoke the doctor kindly, standing from his chair and pushing it in delicately. "I think some time alone may do you well."

"Fine." She snapped, trying to go back to her usual self, but her mind felt clouded, like a cavern full of jewels that hadn't yet been discovered. With a deep sigh, she rose from the chair which Dr. Thredson pushed in for her, the legs scraping noisily against the ground. Her backside still hurt. Even her lower back was sore. It was like she'd been bent over in a garden for too long, picking at weeds.

Jen scoffed out loud to herself as Thredson led her down the corridor, to the spiraling staircase that led down to the main entryway. So close to the outside world, yet so far away. She stared out the stain glass windows that lined either side of the door. Spectator cars were lined up outside reporters and news teams who all wanted an interview. With her.

She sighed. It wasn't going to end anytime soon, but for some reason, being so close to Kit Walker, even in the _same building _- it made her feel stronger. Like she wasn't the only one.

XXX

"Wendy, I love you."

She cringed and cried out as the electric shock coursed through her body. The pain was quite abrupt and short, but with decent voltage, it sent convulsions of severe pain up through her arm, to the rest of her body.

"You're doing well, Lana. Do you need a break?"

"No." She snapped too quickly, biting her bottom lip and wrapping her frigid fingers around the wires attached to her wrist. "Let's keep going."

"Alright," she could hear him say, but she wasn't paying much attention. Everything was askew around her, as if her vision were skidded off just slightly. Like she viewed everything through one big lazy eye. Lana breathed deeply. It was the best thing she could do. The two of them had already gone through various phrases as part of her conversion therapy; "Hello, Wendy.", and nothing happened. "Let's go to bed," and she would get a shock. This had gone on for almost an hour now, these ridiculous phrases.

Lana reclined forward in her chair, vomiting heavily into the bedpan which she held between her knees. There wasn't much left to come back up, so it was mostly a yellow mucus that stuck to the roof of her mouth and burned her nose, but this afternoon's lunch was already fermenting in the bottom of the pan. Enough to make her sick all over again. Apomorphine dripped from her IV into her arm.

"I want you to recline back," Dr. Thredson instructed softly and she looked up at him with confusion. He moved to her side and reclined the chair for her. It was an old easy chair, one with a foot rest that popped out, and he gently laid her head on the back cushion. "Are you comfortable?"

"Yes." Lana nodded, still holding complete eye contact with him.

"Good. That's good." Lana fidgeted with the needle poking her arm, covered in an ace bandage portion to prevent just that. Dr. Thredson placed his hand gently over hers and guided her arm to lie comfortably against the arm rest of the recliner. "Lana, I want you to be absolutely comfortable. It's very important for you to remain still during this portion of our therapy session."

"What are you -" Her voice shook but she set her jaw, watching the light flicker across the empty projection screen. No more words would come out.

"Don't worry. I'm not going to do anything to you," he assured, and her eyes followed him all the way to the other side of the room. He reached for the light switch and turned out the lights, leaving the windowless room in complete darkness, aside from the projection screen. "Just try and relax. Listen to my voice."

Trying to abide by what he was telling her to do, Lana let her muscles relax and sunk into the chair. It wasn't very comfortable, but it was better than her bed. "Alright."

"It's alright, Lana."

Lana wondered if she would have to touch herself again, and if he would stay in the room. No, he was much more courteous. Dr. Thredson turned off the projector so it was completely dark, no more flickering light. Lana waited for her eyes to adjust, feeling exhaustion as her fingers gripped the wires still connected to her wrist in various patterns she couldn't see in the dark.

"I'm going to ask you to - use your imagination today," he started, and she could hear his loafers clicking and thumping against the concrete floor eerily.

"What?"

"You're a writer. It shouldn't be so hard for you," he said in an agreeable voice, and as her eyes adjusted to the dark, Lana could make out his dark eyes behind his reflective spectacles. "Trust me."

Lana fidgeted with the IV and the wires suffocating her wrist. "I trust you. You're the doctor, right?"

Dr. Thredson chuckled lightly at her charm. Even locked away from the rest of the world, she still had it. And the therapist was a nice fresh breath of sanity in such an insane place of vulgarity and inhumane thought processes. She felt safe around him, almost as if he were the form of comfort she didn't know she needed. And besides, she'd do anything for a shot out of this place. Anything. Even trying this - conversion/aversion therapy. And it _was _dreadful. But if it was her only way out of here, she had to take it.

"I'll tell you what to do," his tone was reassuring, and as he brushed his hand gently atop Lana's head, he pulled the projection screen up with a soft flap of canvas and sat down with a creak from the wooden chair. "We're going to use a method used by some of my colleagues in medical school."

Lana stuttered. She wasn't sure what to expect after their last session, so she braced herself. "Okay."

"I'm going to close your eyes for you," as he said that, his palm was brushing from Lana's forehead, swiping over her brows and onto her lashes where he gently pressed them over her eyes until she saw nothing but the back of her eyelids. His fingers lingered at her cheek, but only for a moment before he resisted more touching and removed his palm from her eyes. Dancing spirals of gray colored her vision now as she adjusted to the pitch black behind her lids.

"Now, this is purely for you. I want you to relax your body completely," Dr. Thredson instructed, and Lana realized that her fingers were holding the arms of the easy chair in a vice grip. She eased up, letting her head sink farther into the cushion. "When you're ready, I'm going to be on the other side of the room," he explained as she moved her toes inside her sneakers. "I want you to visualize a - lustful situation. It doesn't have to be with Wendy. It can be with anyone of your choosing, in fact. When you feel yourself - giving in, having pleasure in your - fantasy, you're going to shock yourself." With that he handed her a buzzer connected to a machine that took up the better part of a table. The wires taped to her wrist were connected to it as well, snaking up into the thing like a complicated apparatus. "I know I'm asking a lot of you, but I'm going to train you out of your sexual fantasies. We need to take steps in a positive direction."

Lana felt like she was going to be sick again. Sexual fantasies? She chewed on the inside of her cheeks, nodding but doubting at the same time. "Will I be alone?"

Dr. Thredson was holding her hand, moving his thumb over her knuckles. "You won't know I'm here."

Nervously, Lana reached to play with her hair, a habit she had obtained sometime in her late teens, but Dr. Thredson guided it back down to the arm rest and gently wrapped her fingers around the trigger that was connected to the wires around her wrist again. He moved away from her side and set a record on the record player that stood there so stoically, and it began to play soft returns of crackly music.

"Whenever you're ready, Lana."

XXX

"Wendy?" She whispered in the darkness, feeling the soft movement of her lover's body above hers. She reached to cup the back of Wendy's neck and she felt the brunette shiver as she touched the ends of Lana's nearly auburn hair.

"Shhh, baby." She said urgently, leaning down so her lips touched the base of Lana's neck. She peppered kisses all along her jaw line before venturing down to her collar bone, leaving damp indentations with her teeth. Lana's fingers swept into the dark hair that haloed Wendy's innocent schoolteacher face that was covered in light freckles here and there. Lana knew all the places where she had freckles.

"Wendy," she cried in the deep of the night. Wendy straightened on top of her and Lana watched her body move gracefully. She still wore the same clothing she'd put on this morning, the same skirt that Lana had watched sway in the wind as she dropped her off at school before going to work. She tugged at the buttons on the front of the blouse, untucking it entirely from her skirt as she felt Wendy's warm body moving on top of her.

The Beach Boys' "Don't Worry Baby" spun on the record player in the other room as Lana struggled to take of Wendy's clothes. With a groan from each of them, they rolled off of the sofa and fell to the floor with a rather painful _kathump, _followed by resounding giggles from each of the women. Wendy snorted and rolled off of her - Lana hated to admit that she enjoyed it when Wendy's innocence was accentuated by the fact that a glass of red vine made her a little bit frisky. Lana was soon in her embrace again, once more joining the race to take off Wendy's clothes.

They made their way to the bedroom, barely making it through the doorframe without tossing almost every article of clothing somewhere in the hallway. Lana suddenly felt restrained and began pushing herself out of the remaining articles of clothing that she still wore, amazingly.

Once Lana's bare skin brushed against Wendy's, everything felt alright again, like she was rejuvenated and reborn. All she heard were the beachy tunes of the Beach Boys in the background as she swayed, placing feverish kisses across Wendy's perfect chest, pressing her nose into her shoulder. Her fingers left trails on her sharp hip bones as she allowed her fingers to slip farther down.

Wendy groaned underneath Lana and bunched the pastel blue bed sheets in one of her hands as she scrunched her legs up close to her body and then released them again on either side of Lana's knees, which occupied the space between her legs on the bed. She caught Wendy's lips in the shape of a moan that was in the response to what her fingers were doing until she'd been interrupted by the groans that Wendy emitted for her. Her beautiful, innocent, flower petal mouth.

Lana fought so desperately to rid her mind of the horrible, thoughts from the outside as she let out a passionate moan and her right hand roamed Wendy's perfect stomach, clawing softly at the taut skin as her back arched lightly under her. Frankie Avalon's "Venus" started to play on the record player in the other room as Wendy laced her fingers gently into Lana's hair, massaging her scalp with her nails as Lana worked below her waist. She threw her head back on the pillow and pulled Lana's mouth to hers quickly, begging for her.

Their everything existed in this bedroom; this was their universe. The quiet murmurs and the soft sighs falling from their lips. Lana let her lips rest at the base of Wendy's neck and cried for her, clinging onto her back and scraping the skin on her smooth thighs lightly with her nails.

"Lana?" Wendy begged, her voice more like a desperate child than ever. Lana tried to answer but only a moan escaped her lips as she fell into the delicate stupor of her lover's body, _her _Wendy that would never belong to anybody else. "Lana." She begged again, drawing out her name until Lana crooned back to her in soft, nearly noiseless sighs.

Wendy was suddenly on top of her, looking frightened and nervous. Sweat dotted her nose and forehead like the peppery freckles that speckled her neck and shoulders. Her messy hair fell across her face as she sobbed. "Lana, I'm _sorry baby."_

"Wen-!" She screamed, spasming as Wendy tucked the trigger in her hand and forced Lana's hand to press the valve.

XXX

Lana thrashed back and forth on the armchair, holding down the valve as she shook up and down, screaming at herself, anything, but nothing that made sense. She fought to unstick her hand from the trigger, but she wouldn't let herself. Wendy _left her. _Signed the papers to _confine _here here for the very thing that she was too.

Sounds of electric shock emanated from the room as Dr. Thredson fought for control of the handle, finally unsticking her fingers from the trigger. Convulsing slightly with her head thumping up and down on the cushion, her eyes forced open to see the doctor hovering over her with concern.

"Lana?" He questioned slowly, gently touching her forehead with his cool palm. Speechlessly, he pulled her against his chest, sliding his arms around her. Lana had bitten through her lower lip and the smell of blood was directly underneath her nose. She felt nauseated and vomited over Dr. Thredson's lap, the yellow mucus that was all her stomach still had left to offer. He seemed unfazed by her behavior, rocking her back and forth, restraining her from the valve button that he'd thrown on the table upon comforting her.

Her mouth opened in breathless sobs as he rocked her gently, wordlessly. "I'm sorry, Lana." He apologized, burying his chin in her messy hair. She stiffened at his embrace, still shaking with electricity, until he released her. She vomited on the floor, tearing at the needle in her arm and screaming until she ripped it out and she was able to throw is at the record player. She didn't give a damn if she was punished for misbehaving. Let Sister Jude cane her. Let them lock her away in the hydrotherapy room for as long as they wanted.

"Wendy," she whispered desperately as she drooled down her lip, but the therapist didn't hear her. "Wendy..." And in that moment, she wanted nothing more than Wendy's arms.

XXX

Jen folded her legs underneath her on one of the common room sofas, puffing cigarette smoke into the air in no particular pattern. For her, smoking was aimless, but it was something to consume the ample time she had here. Everyone smoked here, apparently. She didn't like the taste it left in her mouth, really, but it was better than the gloppy one that remained after stomaching a spoonful of the stuffing mush they called food.

"Huh," she mumbled, flicking a cinder off of her shoulder as she watched the common room doors open. Lana spilled out onto them, seeming as confused and lost as ever as she stared around, blinking a few times before she recognized her surroundings. She stared at the record player for at least five minutes before starting towards it, scuffling without lifting her heels from the ground.

She flicked her cigarette off and tossed the rest of it in the tray, rising to watch the woman closer. She walked hunched in on herself, as if she were in pain, and her hair hung in her face stringy and matted.

As she got closer to the wandering woman, she could see that there were dark purple circles underneath her eyes, which she could tell were once lively, eyes that would make a guy squirm. "Over here?" Jen questioned, snapping her fingers for Lana to look at her, as if _she_ were the trapped animal now. Lana reached for her like a zombie, her lip quivering as if she wanted to talk. Her eyebrows furrowed with the effort.

Jen took the woman in her arms, who was shaking like a chihuahua, though she was unaccepting of the embrace and stood stiffly and coldly. "Fuck," she uttered loudly, taking a hold on Lana's hand. To her surprise, she found binding marks burned into her arm, and as she brushed her fingers across them, Lana pulled away and cradled her arm. "Holy shit." Jen put her hands on her hips and shook her head. She couldn't believe they'd done something like this to her.

"Come on," she uttered, pulling her towards the sofa where her cigarette sat smoldering in the ashtray. Lana still remembered how to sit, and did so very stiffly.

"Thank you." She whispered, seeming less confused. Her eyes darted around rapidly like she expected some creature to leap out any moment. There were two indentations below her bottom lip, deep tooth marks. Her own teeth marks that were turning to scabs. They turned her into a drooling statue.

"You look a little blah, Cherry."

Lana didn't respond to the nickname. "I-I'll be alright."

"No, you look like shit."

Lana sighed with exhaustion. Jen didn't even know her. Not really. "I don't have time..." She trailed off, becoming distracted. She was stiff as a board, watching things happen in the distance. She wasn't even able to focus. Made Jen wonder if she was subject to one of those - therapies, Dr. Thredson had talked about.

She reached onto the back of the couch and retrieved the fringey blanket which was really only for decoration, covering up Lana's lap carefully. She didn't move, only stared forward like she was seeing something. Jen sighed and leaned back, smoking another cigarette beside the closest thing she could call a friend - a brain buzzed stranger with an uneven haircut whom she didn't even know the last name of. She sighed and shoved one of her cigarettes in Lana's mouth, striking a match and lighting it for her. They smoked in silence.

The common room door opened again, but this time, it wasn't a staggering stranger. In strode the man, two or so heads taller than Jen herself and dressed in a brown suede vest that was a few sizes too large and a pair of slacks that folded around his loafers. He brushed across the common room, unnoticed by the patients, and kneeled beside Lana, pushing the oblivious woman aside and placing his hot palm on Jen's knee. She smiled.

"Elliot?"

**Fact: The name "Peyser" means "weigher" or "to weigh" **

**Fact: Wendy's celebrity crush is Dusty Springfield **


	3. The Most Powerful Scream

Three

It didn't look like the right place. As she stood on the doorstep, about to ring the doorbell - a _doorbell - _there was hesitation. Birds chirped in a birdbath outside in a tiny little garden, barely big enough to be one. It was more of a flower bed with petunias and lattice flowers growing out of control. They hadn't been clipped in a while, and the vines stretched out of the soil like trip wires.

It looked - nice. It wasn't the usual type of place. No alleyways to cross through, no dealers on the street or motherless children begging for change from rich busybodies who brushed past them with noses in the air. This was a fritzy little neighborhood. Not rich, but it was comfortable and sweet. The kind of neighborhood that was probably full of first time families and retired old folks.

Jen leaned around to peer into the garage. A car was absent, though there were traces of one being there recently; muddy tire tracks and a foreign drip. She sighed heavily, moving her shoulders in a cumbersome manor before she lifted a finger, which felt like a thousand pounds, and rang the doorbell.

_Ding. Dong._

She waited, smoothing her palms over her skirt, hoping she looked alright. Later, she might need a squeegee to wipe the makeup off her face and her hair had enough curl to pass off as one of the Andrew Sisters; she didn't usually look like this. Only on these rare occasions. And no one was answering the door. Cursing under her breath, she rang it again, rocking back and forth in her heels. They were too small - she expected blisters.

Just as she was about to leave, the lock clicked and her breath hitched in her throat as the door opened slowly, shyly. Jen fixed her hair and buttoned her coat quickly, looking up into the face of a woman.

Wasn't anyone she didn't expect to live in a neighborhood like that. Housewife-looking, she could easily fit in to the facade of flower pots and baby carriages. The woman was young looking, probably around Jen's age if she had to guess, and her hair was soft and brunette, lightly framed around her face which was round and might be considered homely by the less polite. But there was a strange beauty about her, a tantalizing secret sexiness that shone through the cracks.

"Oh, come in," she said quickly, the tone of her voice guilty. "I'm sorry, I was - it's not important. How long have you been waiting out there?"

Jen stepped over the threshold into the house, which was quaint but well kept. Inside it smelled like something was cooking and it was comfortably warm compared to the cool outside air. She could feel herself beginning to sweat. "Not that long."

"Good. I thought you'd bail." She smiled, showing a crooked smirk which would drive anyone wild. "Please, sit down. Can I get you anything?" Nervously, she strode over to the sofa which was a rough green material with alternating light and dark stripes . Jen traced one stripe with her thumb and tried not to cross her ankles. Once she was told that wasn't very ladylike and it made you look like a whore.

Suddenly remembering that she'd been asked something, she looked up, trying to seem pleasant. "Excuse me? Sorry." She cleared her throat, chewing on the insides of her cheeks uncomfortably.

The woman smiled, brushing her side swept bangs off her forehead. "It's no trouble. I asked if I could grab anything for you," she paused, thinking. "Tea, coffee? Cookies? I just made some."

"No, thanks." Jen pulled at her scratchy skirt uncomfortably, tasting the lipstick on her teeth as she ran her tongue over them. She was never any good at keeping lipstick on, anyway. "You have a... Charming home."

"Oh, thanks." She beamed gently as Jen looked around. The kitchen where the lovely scents were coming from was quaint, a table with flowers set upon a mat. She couldn't see into any of the other rooms, but the bedroom door was open and she could see the corner of the bed, covers pulled tight over the rest of the mattress that wasn't in sight. Picture frames were scattered across the mantle but the photos were unreadable. Jen always had shit for vision. "I tried to clean up..."

"It's cool. I don't think I'll be here long. I think we should... Um, get to business." Clearing her throat, she wiped the lipstick from her teeth when she thought her counterpart wasn't watching. She rather was peering off towards the kitchen doorway where strings of pretty orange and red bead streamers hung from the frame. The place was nice - snug and pleasant.

"Yeah, right, of course." The lady, with subtle grace and precision as if she did it a million times before, reached up to the curtain rods in the front window, drawing them back tightly, and with the flip of her hair, traipsed to the couch, resting beside Jen and crossing her legs. She reminded Jen of her cousin Marilyn, whom she'd spent her days during the summer with. Of course, she'd turned out to be a cheap whore, though she always figured Marilyn would end up being a secretary or something.

"Do you have the..."

"Oh," she looked embarrassed for a moment and uncrossed her legs, keeping her ankles together as she reached underneath the sofa to retrieve a small bag. It was a beaded pocketbook with a pearl clasp, the small strap wrapped around her wrist as she straightened her back again. "Yes, I do."

Jen couldn't help but think how strange the situation already was; the clients she dealt with were anything but identical to this soft, tolerant woman with gentle brunette curls bobbed to her shoulders and pastel earrings which matched the other jewelry she wore. Jen's eyes slowly traced across her fragile wrists to her slender fingers that wrapped around a decorative pillow beside her. There was no wedding band, but on her right hand there was a subtle robin sapphire ring.

"I'll take it." Jen tried to say with reassurance, though it didn't sway the other woman. She tapped her fingers nervously against the arm rest, other fingers twirling around her downy hair. She crossed and uncrossed her legs, smoothing over her skirt.

After a moment of silence, Jen broke the bubble and cleared her throat. "I promise. My hands are the safest hands for it to be in." Forcing a smile, which seemed so hard for her, she reached over and touched the lady's hand, resting their clutched fingers against her knee. The young woman looked up, her eyes trailing up and down skittishly from Jen's eyes to their hands. She let go of the pocketbook and Jen took it gently, cautiously and tenderly, holding it in her lap.

"Are you sure? Just, I don't usually... I never do things like this. I just want her under -" She twirled a lock of hair up into her fingers. Her face was becoming red, in the way that looked like she was holding her breath or she might cry soon. Jen didn't want to deal with a crying woman. Not now. Not today. It was funny, though. She didn't look much like the crying type. She was the weak kind with hidden strength deep down.

"I'm certain." Hearteningly, she patted her knee and looked into her eyes. They were soft and brown, like the eyes of a doe. This one was caught in the headlights of Jen's car. "I know it's hard for you to trust, but I'm telling you -" she paused, really _meaning _her words. "I _promise _you. If this is what you want, and I know it is, you can trust me." She gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.

She pinched her lips together, wiping her watery eyes and trying to muster a smile. "I trust you."

"Trust _us."_

There was barely a pause before she nodded softly, smoothing over her blouse. "I do."

Jennifer slowly got to her feet, opening her purse to slip the pocketbook safely inside. Her hand returned with a package of paperwork, laying them out on the coffee table before her. "You've read over the -"

"Yes." She interrupted, clearing her throat. Playing with the sapphire band on her right hand, she wiped at her eyes and took the ink pen Jen held out to her. She signed in every place where Jen told her to, leaving an ink smudge next to the final initial.

"Perfect." Jen spoke gently, rising from the sofa.

"Thank you."

Forcing another smile, she moved to the door, feeling those damn blisters again. Her heels stung each time she took a step and she tried the make it look like she wasn't limping. She didn't want to stay any longer than she already had. It made her uncomfortable - even more so than the places she usually traveled to for these businesses. And she didn't even know the lady's name. It wasn't important.

"She'll be safe." Was all that she said before opening the door, glancing at her one last time before she exited the home, quietly dampening the door behind her. Jen sighed deeply, looking back to the window from the outside. The curtains were still tightly drawn, and she had a feeling that they would be for a while.

XXX

A shaft of light created a gilded finish to the rough stainless steel resting against the concrete floor, beams created from the patch of sunlight shedding hope upon the gray ground that was in darkness for days. The rain clouds might have been cleared for now, but another storm was rolling in. Not a wild, circuitous monster, but rather a blowing, whistling storm that shook the remaining structures around the institution and created a sheath of Halloween.

Lana's hands were becoming prunes under the water. It was perpetually hot, and she felt they were stewing a pig pot of soup with her inside, trapping her until she was nice and done. It wouldn't be very good stew. She probably shriveled pounds since she'd been locked away here.

She lifted her head to peer through the chain link fence that went about three quarters to the tall ceiling and separated rows of bathtubs. Pipes on the cinder block wall steamed beside her, causing the back of her neck to dampen. Everything about the hydrotherapy room was uncomfortable, but this morning she could barely move - at least she could clench and unclench her fingers underneath the water now. She felt as if her body were made out of wood that was left in the rain, dried, and warped. The burns around her wrist stung as the water sizzled around her, the canvas zipped up to her neck rubbing against her tender skin that felt paper thin.

The girl on the other side of the chain links no longer struggled. She was ironically docile in her environment and the water had long since stopped running into the basin that encased her like a rolled up umbrella stuffed into the back of a closet. Sweat and perspiration from the steam crept up her neck, like tiny lady bugs on a dew drop, and her bangs hung disorderly in her face, pulled out of her messy braid and tangled.

"Potatoes." Muttered Jen from the other side of the cage. "Is that what they want?"

"Hm?" Absently, Lana rubbed her shriveled palms on her submerged knees, blinking to conceal her lack of attention. She knew enough not to struggle even though the water made her burns sting. She'd only hurt yourself more.

"Potatoes." Repeated Jen again.

Lana bathed in silence, working on moving her toes at the end of the tub. They felt stiff too, and she had to admit, the warmth of the water did help her regain movement in her smaller appendages.

"Is there any way out of this thing?" Jen called, her voice muffled into the wall as she peered around, looking for an escape. Lana still thought slowly, in a sluggish fashion. It seemed hard to make connections between words and their meaning. She felt blind and deaf.

"No..." Lana uttered, though it was only half true. Grace somehow had learned the daunting task of escaping the taut buckles and undoing the snaps and zippers to climb out of the tub. Once she'd crossed the grate barrier to let Lana out too, but it had been a long time since she saw Grace.

"Fuck." She muttered, punching her fingers at the moist canvas, which was thicker than one might imagine.

Lana was once again silent, closing her eyes. She hated being locked in here. It was no torture but it always was so hot and made her feel like a peeling vegetable after the guards finally allowed her to dress again.

"You're awfully quiet," Jen muttered mostly to herself, causing Lana to open her eyes and turn over to the wall separating them. The other woman worked diligently at the inside of the cloak covering the bath and keeping her in lockdown, Lana could see her fists punching underneath and hear the slosh of hot water. "Don't you talk much?"

Lana found herself frowning quietly but wishing she had a smile to spare. She liked the girl. "Pays to keep your mouth shut."

"Silence is the most powerful scream." She hissed enticingly as Lana heard the zipper beginning to tug down the fabric. Her tiny hands started to snake out of the bath, releasing steam in tufts of curling perspiration. "Ah-ha."

Almost expertly, her pruned fingers worked to unbuckle the clasps and untie carelessly done knots, tossing the fabric over the sides and rising with a slosh of water after pulling the drain. Lana listened to the water swirling around in the bottom of the stainless steel as Jen rose with her back to the chain link divider, pulling her chestnut hair off her neck. It was highlighted in blonde and in desperate need of a wash, but Lana couldn't help but notice how pretty she actually was.

Her eyes were ultramarine blue that mesmerized with ease as she concealed them with skinny, light lashes the color of wheat. She was very small, but fierce. It was already plain to see that she liked things her way, even if she had to use whatever she had. Lana noticed that is was like she didn't even recall her lack of height and body mass; she certainly made up for it in that assertive yet subtle bossiness.

"So, whatcha in for, Lana?" She pressed her hips up against the chain link, completely nude. Lana closed her eyes. She was beautiful, but she wasn't - Wendy. She wasn't her. "What are you _repenting_ for?"

Lana was careful to keep eye contact with her as she jiggled open the gate that was the median between the fence, stepping through to her side while leaving dark gray footprints on the concrete. Jen leaned over, accentuating her small but bare breasts as she started undoing the buckles holding her in. Her drippy fingers caught the zipper and she frowned in Lana's face while tugging at it, but it wouldn't budge.

"Does it matter?" Lana's voice was hoarse, maybe even ill, and her eyelids fluttered over bloodshot eyes. "It doesn't."

"What terrifies you so much?"

Jen's sudden but quiet outburst startled Lana and also annoyed her. What did this girl know about her? Just as little as Lana knew about _her. _Damn, she had a mouth, though. In her stupor, Lana had heard her utter so many fucks that she lost count.

"Nothing." She snapped as Jen crouched down beside the tub, eyeing her with suspicion. No, she didn't get to do that. She didn't get to let those thoughts fester in her mind until the boils of 'immorality' and 'justice' broke. It happened too many times before.

"Jude keep you here just for caning practice, then?"

Lana could feel her face flush hot. She couldn't even _sit down _afterward. Some people noticed the way she walked after leaving Sister Jude's office, and some didn't.

"Trust me," Jen whispered in a low, attractive voice. "I know what that feels like."

"You've barely been here two weeks." Lana snapped unexpectedly, swishing her hands on the water that only seemed to become hotter and hotter.

"Barely. And that's long enough." She rose and walked naked to the window, pressing her thumb to her teeth and humming to the tune of "Ssh Boom" as she hung her slender arms playfully over the hissing pipes by the window. She didn't even seem to notice Lana's desperate struggle to escape the bath. But Jen had left her just out of reach of her flight, rubber-banded her wings at her sides. And the bird was weak and tired.

"You're a plucky young girl," Lana's raised voice was drained but still leaked derision and mockery of the her, putzing around in nothing but her birthday suit in the hydrotherapy room. "Who drove _you _over the edge?"

Jen laughed. "Plucky. Can't say anyone's used that word to describe _me, _Cherry. And the answer to that is - well, yet to be determined. Might figure that out here." She shrugged and looked up at the ceiling where lights swung aimlessly as if the room had it's own wind current.

"You might just find two edges in this place."

Jen didn't smile. No one smiled here, not a real smile. Forced by dead end glimmers of hope. "What's your story? Nice lady like you... Probably one of those housewives driven over the edge, huh? Probably - trippin' over vacuum chords, and... Inhaling bleach all day. And pretty soon, before you know it, you're locked up in this place. Do your kids come visit you? Or are they old enough to know Mommy's contained with a bunch of criminals and psychos?" A crooked laugh filled he room. "Or Mommy _is _the psycho."

Lana clenched her fists under the canvas but contained herself, sitting in silence. She'd rather cook to the perfection of a pot roast than speak of the life her family wanted for her. And besides, no matter how demented Jennifer seemed - she was so... Likable. She didn't know why, but she was. More or less, she could be some sort of criminal, or someone's loopy sister but it didn't even seem to bother Lana anymore, not any of it. There were things much more disgusting here.

"I don't have a husband." She sighed, leaning her neck against the back of the tub. If Jen wasn't going to help her out, she might as well not tire herself. She was done.

"Spinster?" Questioned the girl. It was nature for her to be curious but Lana didn't have to tell her everything. Not just yet.

"Yes."

She shrugged and located a towel that had been left for Lana by one of the hands that zipped her up inside the hell bath. "It's the twentieth century. To every man his own. Or rather, woman." While she spoke, she tucked the towel around her body, slipping one end into the other.

Lana agreed, though she wasn't exactly seizing the ropes of life and charging out into the world. She was tied up by them.

"State sent me here," Jen continued, combing her fingers through her damp, greasy hair as she strode back and forth. "You know how troublesome it is to be a ward of the _state? _It's like being a dog," pausing, she looked into Lana's eyes, the glimmering sapphires boring holes into her aching skull. "And guess who got sent to the pound?"

Lana had never heard it said better in her life.

"So, what _about_ you?" Again, the woman leaned against the tub, and with a coarse hand, moved Lana's hair from her eyes. She blinked to conceal her embarrassment and curled her toes under the water. "Are you a state ward?"

Lana shook her head, letting her hair fall into her face again. "No. I have family members."

"Oh, so you're one of the lucky ones."

_Not exactly. _

"I haven't talked to my family in years." Without mentioning Wendy, who was practically her family.

Jen seemed like she was thinking for a moment, and then with a now dry hand reached to clutch the zipper at Lana's neck, pulling it all the way down to her feet. As it split open, the bath released plenty of steam, fogging the grated prison windows.

"Me neither. At least we have that in common, don't we, Cherry?"

Lana stretched at her newfound freedom, thankful to be released from the restraints of the bath tub. She had to admit, she did feel more comfortable and the burns on her wrist had shriveled under the boiling water.

"Come on." Offered the girl, taking Lana's hand out of the bath and pulling her to her feet. Her legs felt like firecrackers, asleep from lying down so long, and the cold was a shock to her skin that was covered in red splotches from the water. Carefully, Jen reached for another towel hung against the windowsill, snapping it and handing it to Lana. She wrapped it around her body, teeth chattering as she held her arms around her breasts to keep the towel on.

Both of them rested against the window, feeling the small shafts of October sunlight streaming through the cover of clouds. "I heard you yelling." Lana nearly whispered, her voice cracking. "I did."

Lying in her cell, days ago she could have sworn she heard someone screaming for her all the way upstairs. It wasn't unusual for patients to yell, scream, shout. Beg for mercy. But Jen hadn't begged for mercy. She begged for Lana. While sister Jude's cane came down again. And again.

"Oh." Lana's counterpart said softly, licking her chapped lips. Lana could tell by her face that she remembered too. It was all too familiar to her though, the caning until you were black, the bloody welts left on your backside for days. "I didn't..."

Lana fought the urge to say something rash, she felt sympathy for the woman. In taking a deep breath, she let it out slowly and firmly, letting her lips peel into somewhat of a simper. There was her inspiring reporter look. "I know." She said simply, closing her eyes, feeling the draft rush over her bare shoulders and sending a chill through her body.

Jen had paused, holding her knuckle to her chin. Like a cobra striking, she reached for Lana's hand, chewing on her lip. "Lana... Will I ever get out of here? Will... We?"

She'd succeeded in catching Lana off guard once again, but her robin eyes glittered with perspiration. She quickly turned from her, thrusting Lana's hand away and jabbing at her eyes to wipe the tears.

"Why do I give a shit? Right?" With bare feet and wearing only the towel, she scuffled away from Lana and rested against the windowsill, twirling her legs together. "Why do I care what happens to you? Or... Or even me." Jen stopped, expression changing. "But that's the catch, right. No one leaves here. Do they. Do they?"

Lana was backed into a hypothetical corner, grinding her jaw and eyeing the girl suspiciously. The way she wielded her hands, spoke with much less patience than an experienced mother who knew how to deal with smaller children. But Lana was no child.

"I've tried." She stood with those words, holding the towel over her chest as she spoke with soft convictions. "There's a way. There are _ways."_

"You've tried escaping?"

Lana pulled her hair off her neck and began to thread her fingers through the knots. She did the only thing she could do in this situation. Lana lied. Jennifer couldn't know about the creatures they had encountered in the woods the night of their attempted escape, the things they saw. "No."

Jen threw her arms up, pacing away and letting the towel fall from her shoulders to the ground, naked once again. She didn't even seem to mind a bit, but that might have just been part of the naughty streak that ran through her. "God, I'm gonna rot here."

Lana wanted to tell her that there was hope, that someone might come for her unexpectedly, but she knew that hope was a false pretense. At least it was here.

"Do you dream of escaping?" Jen turned so her bare body was facing Lana again this time, scrunching her nose up in frustration. "Just getting up and walking the hell out of here?"

"It isn't that easy."

"You know how fucking - embarrassing, _ridiculous _it is to be thrown in here without warning, dragged from your bed at night by a pile of cops with guns against your will - damn it, I was still in my pajamas!" Lana was thankful her scene wasn't as loud as it could be. That would send the guards reeling back in there and neither of them would be trusted to be left alone to soak in the hydrotherapy room again. Jen started back up again, sucking on her lower lip as if it tasted like candy. "And - and to be under such wild accusations - I don't - I didn't..." She suddenly stopped ranting and like she was having a bipolar episode, calmed down almost immediately. "No."

Jen brought Lana back memories of the way she was when she was contained in Briarcliff. At first, she had lack of caution, which might have killed her if she wasn't careful. And Lana wasn't usually _careful. _It was part of her to be curious, to yearn for something other than a cooking column for the rest of eternity. They couldn't possibly expect her to, especially since she burned everything but water. Wendy should have taken credit for her baking and cooking articles she was praised on. It always made her feel guilty, asking her for help. But the guilt was what drove her for this story. This _story. _The story that she was destined for, that would change her life, Wendy's life. Her story. _Her _story.

Her story that would kill her.

Lana reached for the woman whose lips were quivering. She bit the inside of her lower lip to keep it from moving but the method was not working. Just as soon as Lana courageously reached out to touch her forearm, she immediately fell to the floor, rocking herself with her arms around her own shoulders. Quiet sobs emanated from the chambers, bouncing off of faulty pipes and the metal basins lined up between indoor fences.

"Damn you." Jen spluttered, tears leaving tributaries all the way down to her neck, behind her ears. "I want to go home."

Lana fought her own battle, feeling water in her eyes. She didn't have the heart to tell her that she was the reason it was there.

XXX

Oliver coughed and lit a cigarette, using his palm to guard the miniature torch from the wind. It was blowing mightily fast, enough to put out his only match. He was in deep need of a smoke at the moment. Especially since what had happened the day before yesterday. He sighed, brushing his fingers back through his greased hair, letting the tobacco relieve him.

Briarcliff Manor looked just as beguiling on the exterior as it was inside. But the things that went on in there were much more - gruesome. And he wasn't recalling his own therapies. They were cutting edge, straight out of medical school, and he was a certified psychiatrist. Some of the things patients were subjected to were - inhumane, to say the least. They weren't even therapies, really. Torture and punishment was more like it.

Straightening his thin black tie, he bent down to pick up a rock from the gravel drive, turning over the rough surface in his hand. Even thought about throwing it towards the institution, if he could get away with it. It wouldn't be very professional, he thought, deciding against it. He worked hard to build his reputation, and though tossing a rock off into the distance could hardly sully it, he had a gentle persona.

"Stressful, doctor?"

He turned at the sound of the voice, startling slightly more than he should have. Being around this place made him feel ghostly and unnatural, just like everything else inside. Sister Mary Eunice smiled a serpentine twinkle, brushing her flaxen bangs from her forehead with long, manicured nails.

"Oh. You startled me, sister." Oliver let the stone slip between his fingers, clicking to the ground and nestling jaggedly between its brothers. "I've been a little on edge."

"Is that right?" Innocently, she rubbed the toe of her Mary Jane on her the ground, creating a crunching noise that sounded like the grinding of bones. Oliver chewed on the end of his tab, swaying back and forth in his oxfords. There was something about Sister Mary Eunice that rubbed him the wrong way, left him uneasy. "I assume you're a very busy man, Dr. Thredson."

"I am." After succeeding in shortening his cigarette by a few centimeters, he tired of it and tossed the remaining stick on the ground, rubbing the heel of his shoe on top of it with a sickening crunch. "I have a few patients outside of your institution."

"Hm-hm." She chuckled daintily, slipping her fingers over her mouth as she did. Oliver wiped his damp hands on his pants; it was brittle and crisp, November air left windless by the bustling Nor'Easter. "You aren't to be overworking yourself, doctor."

He repositioned his spectacles, sliding them back up the bridge of his nose. "Oh, I'm not, sister." Without knowing what else to say, he scratched the back of his head and craned his neck, feigning to look at the hulking building before him. Sister Mary Eunice smiled her lovely smile, turning to stand directly beside him.

"Impressive architecture, isn't it?" She leaned back on her heels, rocking slightly while crossing her arms in front of her. Oliver held his hands behind his back. "The early 1900's must have been a gas."

"Almost like a mask," the doctor paused, chucking his chin around until he could avoid looking at the nun. Just her presence made the hair on the back of his neck bristle. "You never know what it's hiding, do you, sister?"

The young woman snorted, clasping her hands where Oliver could see them, thankfully. "Are you always such a fan of analogies, Dr. Thredson?"

"I do favor them, yes. Though I think my fecitiouty should hardly be your concern." He paused and tried to smile pleasantly. "What did you need from me?"

Sister Mary kicked at the stone that Oliver had dropped in the drive, turning to watch Pepper twirling amongst the trees. She held her arms out to her sides, imitating a biplane as she zoomed through the sparse thing that was as close to a yard as she could ask for at Briarcliff. Patients weren't allowed outside most of the time but Pepper was one of those exceptions. She needed to run around when she was riled, like a little kid and she usually behaved and was allotted special privileges.

"That's the thing, doctor, I've come to speak with you about your - over-busy schedule." Only ceasing to pick up Oliver's rock she'd been scuffing her shoe on, she straightened again and tossed it back and forth in her pale palms. "Let me clear a few items up for you."

He shook his head, smiling with pinched lips. "I'm completely fine. In fact, I like to have a busy schedule -"

"No, Thredson." She snarled, rolling her eyes like he was the most irritating human being that ever crossed her path. Surprised by her sudden gnarled outburst, Oliver shoved one hand into his pocket, feeling a bunch of thread, a paper clip, and a ring which he'd been carrying around for the past few days. He slipped it onto his pinky finger, the only finger it would fit, while his hand was still inside his pocket. "You're court ordered as the therapist for only two,patients at this establishment." She uttered rather bluntly, placing her hands on her hips.

"Yes, I've been having daily sessions win Kit, ever since I've started here, and Miss Autumn-"

"I have to ask you not to interfere with the other patients."

Oliver shook his head in disbelief, confused at her sudden blight attitude. "I'm afraid I don't understand." But he did understand. He wasn't qualified to assist other patients, interfere with their therapies in any way because he was merely a guest here. And he'd been doing just that. "I don't -"

"Come now, Dr. Thredson. You can't honestly think I don't know what goes on around here, do you? I have eyes everywhere, you know." She winked, smirking out of one corner of her mouth. "Keep to your court orders, and there won't be any -affairs."

"Affairs? I hardly think helping a few patients at my leisure qualifies for an affair, sister." Thredson paused and let the ring slip from his pinky back into the depth of his pocket. "Are you referring to Miss Winters?"

Sister Mary Eunice gave him quite a sly look. "It's like you read my mind."

"My sessions with her have nothing to do with the courts. She asked for my help."

She laughed, still turning the stone over in her hand. Something about it was not right, uncomfortable. Oliver had the feeling she might attack him and crush his head win it. "Your escapades with Miss Winters aren't going to do much good, Dr. Thredson. She's stubborn - and she doesn't have the qualifications to ask for your assistance."

"I didn't believe that patients in need of help weren't permitted it . If she isn't receiving the help she needs, I feel it's my job - my duty to give it to her." He could feel his hands beginning to sweat and his heart pounded. He knew this would probably happen but now he was ill prepared.

"Whichever universe you live in with your - dyke crush, whatever you prefer to call it... Stay out of her business. And stay out of ours. We can't have a meddling therapist scooting around and catering to whores, can we? You think I don't know - you think Sister Jude doesn't know what you're doing?"

"Behavior modification." He growled, feeling the anger boiling up inside of him like a marshmallow about to explode. Red crept in behind his ears as he contained himself. Dyke crush?! Lana was merely his patient, how dare she -

"Yes, your little... 'Conversion therapy'. Put a stop to that now. She doesn't deserve a chance. She needs to repent. And it isn't any of your business to go hindering with-"

"Deserve a chance? Sister Jude locked her away before anybody gave her a say, and I don't believe for a _seco-" _

"Don't believe anything." She spat, turning towards the building again, smoothing her thumb over the snaggy rock in her hand. "And if I were you, I certainly wouldn't get yourself involved in something so difficult to dig yourself out of. You're digging a pit, Dr. Thredson. What will you dig yourself out with? Not your comb, I assure." With the flop of her skirts, she turned from him and throttled the stone towards Pepper, who was peeking out from behind a tree. She scuttled after it as it went rolling into the scrubby brush, seizing it in her hairy hands and snorting like a chimpanzee as she threw it back.

Oliver stood in slight disbelieve as he watched her disappear into the bowels of the mysterious seminary without turning back once to witness the look of unease on his face. He slowly let his breath out in a huff, noticing how it froze in the air with the early November chill before he strode back inside, to the main lobby where the spiral staircase spilled down to the main floor where things were stirred up. A girl wearing a knit cap, Frankie, ran back and forth between two guards who attempted to restrain her with no avail; she was sly and slippery like a baby seal, making it difficult for anyone to keep a hold on her. Charles threw his hands up into the air and hollered at the ceiling, as he always did.

There was so much order to this disorder. It made him wonder what this place would be like without Sister Jude's iron fist ruling. Shaking his head, Oliver strode to the busy common room where the relentlessly cheerful song played on the record player, spinning constantly on the player. This purgatory was unhealthy for these - patients. It wasn't his job to help all of them, but... None of them were even getting _real _therapy.

He crossed the common room platform, past a few patients fighting over a board game piece and sat down beside Lana. She was resting in a chair, clutching her fingers together with her head pressed against the arm rest. She looked drained, her eyes no longer darting around uselessly. They dropped now, in one constant direction.

"Lana?"

She didn't look up. "Hi."

"I'm very sorry, Lana. I didn't want anything to come to this." He motioned to her slumped against the arm rest, but she didn't look up to see him. The very person that had been haunting his thoughts since their recent therapy session. He really was sorry. Lana was very strong, but it was clear that aversion/conversion therapy was not right for her. He wasn't exactly a certified advocate, and she was set in her ways. Her fixation was more than just that. A fixation. It was her _life. _How could he reroute her entire life?

"I know." Her words were long, drawn out as if she was falling half asleep. "Thank you for trying."

"Lana..." He started again, reaching to pet her head. She didn't flinch this time, letting him. In fact, she didn't seem to care about anything right now, not even the other inmates now screaming over the playing cards before them that they were holding upside down. They weren't even really playing.

"It's okay, Dr. Thredson."

"Oliver." He corrected her. He usually had his patients call him Dr. Thredson, but with Lana, it sounded much too formal for some reason. "I have something for you."

She didn't perk up, but her droopy eyes did roll up to meet his as he leaned over her, petting her worse for wear brown hair anyway. Oliver could easily see that her lip was trembling like she wanted to say something but if she did, hysterics would surely spill over. And she wasn't a hysterical person.

"Come with me." He reassured, offering her his arm up. She took it slowly, letting him gently pull her up to stand. Oliver would be _very _careful with Lana. He couldn't let her slip away. He wouldn't.

He took her to the office he had been given temporarily. He couldn't possibly have it much longer if Sister Jude had any say in it, but be figured he should get every use out of it possible. He dropped Lana off in the chair across from his desk, hovering for a moment protectively. She didn't move for a few beats then lifted her head to look at him. Those eyes were painful to look into.

"Oh," Oliver nodded, moving to his desk with a key and unlocking the very top drawer with a key which he retrieved from his left pocket. After sliding out the drawer, he dug to the bottom where he had carefully placed each thing with precision. Even though it had been locked, he didn't trust anyone here and he was right not to. Anyone could go snooping around and he wouldn't exactly appreciate Sister Jude exposing him to the state for helping a patient whom he was not certified to help.

He looked up once to find Lana watching him carefully remove stacks of legal documents from the drawer, organizing them with order on the desk until he retrieved what he was looking for all along.

"This was sent to my office outside of Briarcliff yesterday afternoon," Thredson cleared his throat, handing the slip of paper to Lana carefully, holding it between his pointer and middle finger cautiously. Lana took it slowly, giving him enough time to observe the burn marks on her wrist before she looked up at him with confusion and back down to the paper folded in her lap.

"I did read it." The doctor mentioned rather guiltily, rubbing his chin and repositioning his starched white collar. "I've no idea where it came from, it wasn't addressed to you -"

He stopped talking as he realized a tear was streaming down the woman's cheek as she read the telegram to herself, crinkling the slip in her fingers as she fought back silent sobs. Lana held the thin paper to her chest and bowed her head, pressing the heels of her white sneakers to the legs of the chair while her quivering lips pulled back over her teeth. Her face shivered with weeping moans.

"Dr. Thredson." She whispered hoarsely, shoulders convulsing with each sob that wracked her slight body. "I-"

"Oliver," he corrected softly, kneeling and placing his hand on her knee. "Lana, I'm so sorry. I should have warned you."

She bit her knuckle and sobbed out loud, closing her eyes to let the tears squeeze from her eyelids. "Thank you."

He clasped her shaking hand as she drew her knees close to her chest, holding her feet on top of the chair. Her forehead was pressed to her knees to keep make her body as small as it possibly could be to match her emotions.

Oliver carefully dug his hand into his snug pocket, surfacing with something else he'd been waiting to give to Lana. "This was with the package." He mentioned softly, opening the woman's hand and curling it around the other contents of his pocket. The coldness her hand surrounded forced her to look up, and Lana let out a groan when she opened her eyes and touched the tiny ring. It was a robin sapphire, the kind that sparkled in the sun and reflected a star if you held it just right. The band was small and made for a delicate finger, true gold with subtle claws wrapping around the precious stone.

"Is it yours?"

"No." Quietly, she slipped it onto her left hand ring finger, chewing on her scabbed bottom lip. "It's Wendy's."

XXX

Jen paced back and forth in her room, scuffling her shoes against the cold concrete floor each time she switched directions. Every time she went towards the wall and back again to the door, she grew closer and closer to the bed until her thighs brushed against the mattress on the creaky bed frame.

She sighed. She'd been waiting for over an hour since lights out. Sister Jude's henchmen turned guards had long since stopped peeking into her cell to see if she was "behaving". Jen snorted at the thought of that. She wasn't Shelley. They didn't need to babysit her like a whore they were afraid would start to get jazzy on herself when they weren't looking. In truth, she didn't really know if Shelley was one of _those, _but it was highly unlikely that she always had someone to bang. At least not a guy, especially not in the women's ward.

She heard a creak down the hall, sounding like a door swinging open slowly on it's rusted hinges, and she discontinued her pacing, lifting her head and holding a knuckle to her chin while she waited for another noise. There was nothing, only the usual screams and cries that had become more routine than anything else. She turned back to the window.

"Oh!" She threw her hand over her mouth to contain the rest of her frightened scream and bent over herself while breathing heavily through her slotted fingers. "You gotta stop sneaking up on me like that, Jesus Christ-"

"Sorry," Elliot muttered under his breath, brushing off his slacks that were covered in sawdust. His carmel hair was ruffled from the chilled winds that rattled the prison bars on the windows. Jen's hair was wet from her bathing; it was a rather humiliating experience. When she was first brought here, she was almost immediately peeled of every article of clothing, stripped first and de-loused, bombarded with something like a fireman's hose and covered in a floury substance. She was sprayed again with the painful hose and was forced to dress in her new uniform.

Her second bathing wasn't nearly as horrible. One of the nuns led her to a shower without a curtain and gave her a bar of soap and a comb. She had ten minutes to rinse off and make herself "presentable for The Lord". At least she was clean now, though it didn't seem like many people did much washing around here anyway. She wasn't the only one with a little brown around her ears.

When she turned toward Elliot, her sopping hair flipped on her collar and left a splotch on the front of her dress with the drippage. "I've been trying to be light-lipped-" she motioned to the grate on the door and he seemed to be listening in horror to the screaming coming from the hall. "It's lights out."

"I'll be quiet." He promised, his voice barely filling the cell with the whispering cathedral effect. Plenty of people whispered in this ward. It wasn't uncommon, and the guards stopped caring after at least an hour of lights out when they didn't have to listen to it anymore. "Do you believe me?"

Jen slid across the room, pressing her body gently to his torso so her hips lined up with his. He leaned down and pressed his lips to hers with a hunger that had been killing him for the longest time and she fell into it, letting her lips caress his like a princess kissing her frog. As he pulled away, his forehead rested against hers and there was only the sound of her panting breath.

"Elliot, I want to go home." She whispered against his collarbone, damp hair combed in all different directions falling into her face.

"I know." Elliot whispered, keeping his promise about being quiet for Jen's sake. "I wish I could just..."

"What?" She let her forehead rest against his again, feeling his hot breath on the space just below her nose and above her upper lip, causing perspiration to form.

"Save you." His voice was feeble, hushed as his hand roamed her hip, pulling her in closer by the small of her back until her nose was against his cheek. She could smell his skin now with the tip of her nose against his jaw which had a soft stubble slightly lighter than his hair, a scent which she recognized and pulled closer to her. She would do anything for a little inkling to remind her of home.

"I didn't do anything, Elliot." Jen sucked in her breath, and Elliot pulled her as close as he possibly could so her chin was tucked over his shoulder like a fussing baby. "I didn't - I didn't kill that lady."

"I know you didn't." He paused, brushing a lock of her stringy hair out of her face and peering at her with utmost devotion. "Jennifer, I _know."_

She fought tears again, becoming even more homesick than ever. "Elliot, I want to go _home."_

"I know." His face became pained. Jen knew he didn't like to see her in distress, and this place was obviously putting her in it. If only he'd seen the things she'd seen, been out through the things she went through. "I want to take you home."

Jen nearly lost it, her lip quivering and almost spilling over into a fountain of tears where her body was the angel in the middle spitting out water into the tank, but she grasped the back of Elliot's shirt to get a grip. Big girls didn't cry. And she was a big girl. It took her a moment of composition before she could utter, "Stay with me."

"I'm here." Elliot stipulated, pressing his fingertips to her back, stroking them up and down with ease. "I'm here, Jennifer."

"Don't go away." She pleaded again with watering eyes, shaking her head a million miles a minute.

"Shhh." Elliot was now at the bare mattress, striped white and blue as he stared out of the window above her bed that flashed a white, slanted rectangular box of light over the pale skin of her neck. She faced the same way in front of him, feeling his cool palms cup her tiny hips as she slid her sweater down over her arms so it hung at her elbows. It was from Dr. Thredson. He gave it to her after their last session; striped blue and gray with one stitched pocket on the front. It was nothing fancy but it kept her warm.

"You're cold." Elliot observed with a soft smirk, reaching to touch the hair on her arms that was standing on end from goosebumps. Jen flinched at the warmness of his fingers on her freezing skin.

"Not anymore."

She didn't turn around to see him, but somehow she knew he was smiling when he stroked his palm down her arm, slowly guiding his fingertips to her behind. Trying not to flinch at the bruises that still resided there, she felt his hands travel back up to her back where the denim dress was tied.

"Jennifer," he started when her hands caught his at the back of her dress only for a moment to turn around and place kisses on them. His arms slid back to her neck where he undid the bow, and she let the piece of cloth fall to the floor in a pile.

"Don't say my name like that," she begged while feeling his warm hand stroke her back gently. "It makes it sound like you're saying goodbye, and goodbye means-"

"Jennifer," he silenced her with a smiling kiss. "Shut up."

He sat back down on the bed with her legs straddled on his lap as he kissed her with unconditional love in his mouth. His white shirt was buttoned loosely around his neck, as it always was, hanging loosely with his brown suede vest. He could have just come home. Jen let her fingers smooth over the soft, white material before burying her nose underneath the collar and letting him fill her neck with kisses. There were a mixture of scents buried within the material.

The complete whisper of cloth settled around them as Elliot slid his shirt and vest off his arms, completely bare to the waist know as Jen planted wet kisses on his collarbone. She was eager, her words soft whispers of gratitude that his arms were finally around her once again.

"Take me out of this place, Elliot." She cried as two of his fingers slipped under the waistline of her underpants. She could feel them slip off as she worked slowly at his pants, kicking off her grimy white shoes in the process. "Take me away."

"I'll take you," Elliot promised, and soon she was against the wall, flattened gently as he held her wrists at her sides gently. Carefully, as if he were afraid he might break her. But Jen knew that he knew better, he knew what she liked. He knew her better than anybody.

"Elliot!" She cried, trying to hush her cries as his fingers caressed her neck, his hips moving in rhythm to hers as she vaulted gracefully underneath his gentle body. He was always gentle, never assertive in any way. He never just pounded her like other guys. He loved her.

"I'm here, I'm not going anywhere." He promised with labored breaths over her pleasing sighs against the stained pillow. "You got that, beautiful? I'm here. I'm here."

"You're here." She cried, tightening her fingers in his hair that was slightly moppy in the front, squinting her eyes shut as her fingers scrunched against the taut surface of the mattress. "Stay with me."

"I am." He groaned into her neck, and Jen felt an overwhelming surge overcoming her body. She could barely hold anything in any longer. Everything felt like it was about to spill over all the sudden, like she could barely stand it. She could bear it no longer, this cell, the grated walls, the confinement.

Elliot kissed down the plate between her bare breasts, his hands moving at her ribs gently as if he were brushing a feather over her torso, ever so gently removing himself from her body and entering once again in a rhythmic pattern. Jen opened her mouth and cried out, pulling him closer to her.

"Take me away." Her hoarse voice pleaded, and she immediately fell against the pillow, cooing as he worked between her parted thighs to capture her release.

"I'm here, beautiful." His voice echoed in a promise, working faster now. Abandoned excitement rushed through Jen's core as she felt the release building up inside of her and she let out a muffled groan again, feeling her back arch.

Light blinded her immediately, not from the triangular moonlight sheeting through the barred window, but from the doorway. The cell door swung open to reveal a haunting silhouette hulking in the metal doorway. Jen gasped and cowered to the corner of her bed, panting and covered in sweat as she made herself into the smallest being she could be.

"No. Please don't take us. Please don't take me from him, don't take me, don't take me, don't..."

**Fact: Jen's favorite food is blueberries and she is a decent cook**

**Fact: Lana and Wendy met in college when Lana was 25 and Wendy was 22. Wendy was originally going to be an environmental scientist **

**Sorry if so much of this seemed like set up. For you, lovely readers, it will be worth it. Thank you. **


	4. Click

Four

"Outrageous!" Sister Jude yelled while slamming her fist down upon the desk, causing the ink pen rest and papers to jump. The entire structure of the room rattled as she slid from her chair and paced back and forth to the door, though Jen knew there was nobody waiting.

Jen slumped in defeat against the hard surface of the chair. Her hands were restrained, but this time she no longer wore the free cuffs in her lap. A strap of leather stretched against her back, looped tightly so there was no chance of escape or mutiny. The restraint was barely a foot and a half long, keeping her hands at her sides so she couldn't even reach up to itch her face, or even smoke. Not that Sister Jude would allow her to.

"How is it, Miss Autumn, that you cannot be detained here for a two weeks without getting yourself into messes? Are you purposefully trying to plead insanity?" Sister Jude muttered, shaking her head and nearly laughing. "I suspected treason, unrefinement, dowdiness, and even indecency in such a vulgar being on God's earth, but I did not, however, suspect-"

"What would you like me to do, sister?" Scoffed the girl, her face turning red. She didn't want the devilish nun to know it was from the embarrassment creeping onto her skin. "You've already got me so I can't touch myself-"

"That's a fine solution," Sister Jude's voice was even as she crossed to the window, quite possibly the only window that wasn't barred like a prison cell. "But the most orthodox method, if I do say so myself. I never thought you to be a self pleasurable creature-"

"I'm _not." _She caught the impulse to spit on her but she was too far away and it wasn't even worth the waste of moisture.

"Oh, really? I'd have you wash your hands again, but it seems you're in a predicament..." After adding the last part in disgust, the nun moved back to the desk where she perched as straight as a ruler, glaring at Jen. Jen glared back. She had just as much snark and lack of caring as the older woman. And she didn't need her God. "After all, I've dealt with worse than a chronic masturbater over the years - one more to stir the pot shouldn't be too much for me to handle."

She didn't have a clue what Sister Jude was talking about, she never - she _never. _

"What?" She growled, feeling a burning anger in the pit of her stomach.

"Don't play dumb now, you aren't some innocent schoolgirl, Jenny. At least not now, if you ever were one in the first place."

She didn't understand. "I'm not playing dumb, where is -"

Sister Jude's glare silenced her without even an utter of a phrase. "Now is not the time to argue. I'd appreciate your silence if you'd-"

"Where are you keeping him?"

Sister Jude rolled her eyes and smacked her hand on the desk. "Are you intent on sullying your reputation for The Lord? Christ, this isn't a daycare facility, I don't have the time to watch you every second of every hour."

Jen stuttered, lost for words. She was worried about Elliot and everything was her fault. She'd told him to come and he listened. Now he was probably locked away in solitary, restrained by the horrible heavy cuffs and shoved in some crate where the light didn't shine. She felt tears sting her eyes but she bit them back, hissing through her teeth.

"I want you to punish me, sister. Just - do what you have to do, and..." She trailed off, feeling the lump clouding in the back of her throat. "Don't hurt him. Whatever you do, don't hurt him."

"Hurt _him?_"

"Everything is my fault, if I only-"

"A martyr of your own eroticism. You're only as bad as your family is. Tell me, were the other Autumns the Devil's advocates too?" She chuckled smoothly, moving closer to Jen and leaning down so Jen could hear her as clear as day. "Lust is my idea of the original sin."

"Don't judge me because I sin differently than you!"

"All sin the same!" She slammed her hands on the arms of Jen's chair, causing the legs to scoot backwards at the added weight. "The monster of humanity is preposterous and to live life as such a - burdened being must be such a sin for you." Leaning in closer, so she could smell the starch on her collar. "Even Mrs. Bloody Face."

"_I_ _am_ _not_ _Bloody_ _Face_!" Jen howled, but it was to no avail. No one would hear her and she realized that as soon as the screams left her lips with a whisper on the last syllable, but it was too late. It was already out, and she might as well wallow in the self pity and loathing for this place, this _woman, _if it was the only thing she could do.

"I shouldn't have coddled, you Jenny. Even the most deserving of pity are altogether greedy and self indulgent in their ways. I believe that judging a book by its cover is in sum a gluttony, but you - you, you're only a - cheap magazine left on a coffee table."

"So what if I have crinkled pages?"

Sister Jude leaned away from her, shaking her head and smiling as if she had just had a chuckle-worthy thought. "You know, I used to be like you, Jenny. Sporty, gutsy, young. Look at me now. All faded away." With a sigh from the past, she turned back towards Jen, who was somehow cowering in her chair. She didn't know why exactly, but she felt as if there was something to be feared for once. "And that doesn't matter now. And whatever that is to you, it isn't going to make a difference when you're like me."

"I'll never be like you."

Sister Jude laughed again, shaking her head. "You already are."

She found it hard to understand the meaning of her words, she was nothing like the bitter old woman. She was cold, hard, like a forgotten gingersnap dropped behind the stove. "It's funny, though." Jen smirked lightly,leaning back in her chair, satisfied with Sister Jude's confusion. "How a tiny part of human nature thinks darkly of the things it doesn't understand."

"Oh, an opposite Puritan to preach about human nature-"

"What I mean, _Mrs. Grundy_, is that you and your other pious crusts automatically assume the worst of what you know nothing about."

"Ho, I don't know everything about you... But I know enough."

Jen clenched her fingers on the armrest until the blood spread out on her knuckles, turning them white. "I thought God wasn't supposed to judge."

"God doesn't have room for selfish adulterers."

XXX

"Take it easy," Frank warned softly. He had quite a heavy Boston accent and he carried his small body in such a way that made her believe he thought he was everything besides the kitchen sink. Well, if his dream job was being a low key security guard in a mental asylum. "More you struggle, the more you tire yourself out."

Jen stated at the ceiling, arching her neck and gulping to feel hot saliva slide down her throat. "Yeah, you'd know."

The other guard who carried her down here was leaving but Frank stayed beside her bed. "It's only for one night."

"Until Jude figures out what to do with me."

Frank seemed to take pity on her. Jen didn't like it. She hated people pitying her like she was some sniveling little housewife who never knew what she was doing. She'd never been a housewife, nor had anyone ever tried to force her to be. She was grateful for that but it was all slowly swirling down the drain anyway, her entire world sucked into the abysmal pit of black.

"Tell ya what, Jen," he slid next to the bed, his voice reassuring. "You just behave and I'll see what we can do about Sister Jude."

She smirked with sarcasm. "Yeah, sure." How could she _misbehave? _She was restrained at the creases of her elbows and her ankles, kept at bay by the straps restricting her ankles.

"Stay out of trouble." Frank said humorously, though Jen didn't appreciate it. The door closed behind the officer with finality and she closed her eyes staring back at the ceiling.

It was too late to ponder over the consequences of what she'd already done. She couldn't stop herself even if she tried, it had been just too sweet. Maybe she _was _a victim of her own lust. But it had been so long since she touched another human being, touched _him. _And now there was barely a chance that he was still -

Jen hated the fact that she couldn't wipe the tears from her cheeks. Instead they rolled down to her neck and made the back of her ears wet, the hairline on the back of her neck sweaty.

There had to be a way out, but she needed unconditional trust. There _had _to be the possibility of escape, but how?

"Lana." She whispered, her voice bouncing off the concrete walls of her isolation chamber.

_Lana, Lana, Lana... _

XXX

"Put the camera away!" The sheets rustled as Wendy curled under them, pulling the silk up over her perfectly messy hair. "You know I hate my picture taken!"

Lana was having too much fun for her own good, watching Wendy's soft brown eyes search her darker gaze while peeking out from underneath her fortress of sheets. Her chocolate curls meandered around her face, fallen flat from the curlers she used the previous morning, and a lock of her bangs fell just over her right eye. Lana shuddered and yanked some of the sheet back to cover her chilly body.

"But you're so photogenic." She pleaded, crawling up closer to her lover. Wendy smirked crookedly, the skewed beam of effulgence that made Lana squirm to be so close to her. "You've never taken a bad picture."

"I'd beg to differ." She leered again, snatching the camera. It was older, Lana thought it was something like the Selfix 16-20 model, that took rolls of film where you could develop the negatives.

"Stop it." Lana derided, taunting her with the camera while shaking it in her face.

"Give me that!" Wendy whined, reaching for the camera with one hand while holding the sheet up around her collarbone which protruded attractively from her shoulders. "Really, Lana, stop playing!"

Lana rolled her eyes and feigned hurt as she moved her head against Wendy's shoulder, letting the camera rest in her lap with the black leather strap curled around her fingers limply. Wendy let her head rest on top of Lana's messy auburn locks and she could hear the soft satisfied sigh emitted from her lips. The record player was spinning The Everly Brothers, the soft bass line of _All I have to Do is Dream _crackling through the walls separating the bedroom and the record player.

"You tired?"

Lana moved her head underneath Wendy's but Wendy didn't move besides encircling her slender arms around Lana's shoulders. "Hmm?"

Her lover's fingers pressed to Lana's forehead, brushing her bangs to the side. Her morning after hairdo was in no way as attractive as she found Wendy's. Those bobbin curls stayed in surprisingly well, and Lana still had the memory of the cozy billows in her fingertips.

Wendy's effete titter filled the room as much as the gray light streaming through the curtains. Her giggle was followed by a soft moan as she buried her lips in the small space behind her ear. She shivered as her damp lips traveled down her neck where they stayed warm and stagnant for a period of ten seconds or so before her hands found Lana's shoulders.

"You got something..." Lana whispered, turning her head over her shoulder so she could look into the woman's deep, feminine doe eyes. "Right-"

"Where?"

"Umm, right - here." Lana softly pulled her close by the back of her neck, closing the distance until their lips met with bestowing grace and her own mouth closed on hers. Wendy's were soft and warm, moving nimbly against Lana's. Her tongue slipped past her surprised lips, and she tasted slightly of wine as Wendy's slender fingers petted her hair down, slipping them in to caress her scalp.

Lana felt her skin ignite at her gentle touch and found herself becoming lost in burying her nose against her companion's cheek. Just a simple brush of Wendy's fingertips made her feel so alive, as tired as she was, and she craved more of it desperately. Her fingers found the hem of the sheet wrapped around her body like Cleopatra's robes and she quickly bunched it up to reveal her naked thighs. With soft intentions, Lana's hand found the flat skin of her pale stomach and felt the muscles underneath twitch as goosebumps rose. It made Lana shiver herself to know that she was the one making Wendy feel this way.

Wendy's body was thin, but not quite fragile underneath Lana's digits that worked gently at her hips. Her head eventually rolled backward, gentle lapin eyes fluttering closed as a lingering smile spread across her face. Lana's fingers danced up her ribs now as her devotee's breath quickened sharply, becoming heavy as her half-lidded eyes fluttered in wonderment at Lana. Lana pulled regretfully from their tightened lip-lock for only a moment to peck her eyelids and smile, tugging at the sheet still covering Wendy's torso, pulling it down to expose the soft curve of her naked shoulders and breasts to her lingering gaze.

Lana lost herself in the many expressions changing in her lover's face, from an engrained rapture to a pleading, guilty revelry. Her face was soft yet strong. That had ironically been the first thing Lana noticed about Wendy when they met. She admired the fact that she didn't wear any makeup, at least not most of the time. Wendy's natural appearance seemed much more appealing because she was so - real, not a dolled up imitation of someone she pretended to be.

Wendy's arms wrapped around her neck, fingernails softly dragging through her auburn hair at the back of her head, tangling into them as heavy rain pounded at the roof. With Wendy now in her lap, she smiled out of the kiss until her and Lana's foreheads were touching, Wendy's slightly higher as she pecked at her lips which were just out of reach.

The record machine skipped down the hall, skipping over Lana's favorite song which they danced to plenty of the times on the player, _In The Mood._ After a moment of silence, it began to play one of Frankie Valli's greatest hits, _Sherry. _Lana groaned outwardly and complained against Wendy's neck, flopping against her.

"You and your god damn torch songs."

"They make me happy." Wendy pouted and giggled girlishly, sticking out her attractive lower lip just enough to look ten years younger. "Like I'm in seventh heaven." After smirking seductively, she lip synced, "I'm gonna make you mi-i-ine!"

Lana snorted and lifted her torso up, stretching and yawning. It was still pretty early in the morning, especially for a Saturday. "I'll go change it." She rose from the bed and taunted Wendy with a winsome stretch and Wendy leaned on one elbow, counting the freckles dotting Lana's back. It made Lana think of those times that she kissed Wendy's perfect little back dimples. While her companion struggled with a lighter and a rolled up joint, she shrugged into Wendy's blue quilted robe and slippers that matched, leaving the door open ajar after scooping up the camera and padding down the hall.

Jesus, how long had they let the record player go? Had it really been all night? She vaguely remembered twirling Wendy around to Elvis, giggling about how they must be the only women on the street who didn't think he was certainly a heartthrob, and soon the buttons were popping off the front of her jacket under Wendy's perfect little digits.

"Hm." She huffed, rifling through the records stacked with lack of organization. Wendy was always impulse buying records before actually looking to see who the artist was. That might explain why they had two different Four Tops albums. Lana held up the record on the bottom of the pile, shrugging as she put Red Garland on and set the needle, tiptoeing back down the hall with the camera under her arm.

It was a lucky thing she'd left the door open a crack because she could peer in through it to watch Wendy. There never could be a woman so beautiful, that was the truth. Cocoa locks framing her face, delightfully messy, those bow lips that blew out the smoke from her cigarette she finally must have been able to manage lighting. Lana smiled. She was so perfect, picturesque with the smoke curling into the air in tiny undulating stacks, heather light from the window shining behind her and creating the illusion of an angel. Or, not such an illusion.

Lana pushed the door open just a crack more but it creaked, causing Wendy to look up just as she curled her left fingers to her chin in a sexy gesture just for her.

_Click. _

XXX

The sound of a heavy metal grate scraping against the concrete floor woke Lana with a start out of a surprisingly peaceful slumber and she squinted at the dull light blinding her senses and causing her head to throb. She was having the most wonderful dream... Oh, Wendy... Wendy.

Lana squinted while pulling herself to an upright position so she was on one elbow, the springs of the old worn mattress creaking under her weight. She checked her body over as she did every morning, just in case. Other than a few bruises on her wrists and healing raw burns on her temples, she seemed to be in decent order. Rubbing her sore wrist where the wires had burned their ambulatory pockmarks, she winced and glanced towards the doorway where two figures were standing.

One was an orderly in a uniform, one of Carl's colleagues, and a nun whom she knew to be friendly enough and respected. The orderly waited outside while the nun strode into the room to greet her.

"Come on, Miss Winters." She said with exhaustion, as if she'd already done this a hundred other times this morning. "Shake a leg, we don't have all day."

The grogginess was starting to wear off from her nightly pill, tapering off completely as she stumbled out of bed and caught her footing. The nun slid her worn shoes toward her, but Lana was too sleepy and preoccupied to slip them on while standing up. She sat back on the bed and pulled them on, attempting to shake the last bit of tranquilizer from her brain. When she stood, the nun, Sister Rachel she thought her name was, pulled down the hem of her short blue dress to right it's position and cover her body.

"A nice shower is waiting, come along Miss Winters." Sister Rachel, if that was her name, said pleasantly, laying down a stack of denim and navy blue socks on the edge of the bed. Lana scooped them up and was ushered by the orderly dressed in uniform to the showers. It wasn't really anything like the hydrotherapy room; it reminded her of a locker room with rows of drippy, lime-stained spigots and slick tile floor. There were no curtains between the shower heads,which was ironic because this was a Catholic institution, meaning they did everything they could to make everything modest, and it couldn't be right for Lana's "condition".

Lana was trusted enough to be left alone while she showered, which was nice. She didn't have to have one of Sister Jude's nuns breathing down her neck at all times. After dumping the fresh clothing on a rusted folding chair, she unwrapped the small bar of soap and turned the nozzle to turn on the water.

"Ah!" She cried, leaping backwards. It was freezing cold, and it splattered up on the tile at her legs, leaving stinging icicle sensations on her calves. Well, she'd just have to wait until it got warm, if it ever would. In the meantime she began to shed her clothes, scrunching up her denim dress and leaving her shoes far enough away from the water so they wouldn't get wet. Lana felt so uncomfortable when she was so - out in the open, so - nude. Especially knowing that anyone could walk in at any moment.

"Alright," she spoke to herself, shaking out her messy auburn hair that hadn't been washed since last Friday. The water was lukewarm, the best she was going to get, so she stepped under the stream of cloyed rain and let it soak her hair while she scrubbed her body with the sand dollar soap, closing her eyes so she didn't get any in them.

"Lana?" The voice echoed off the tile.

"Wendy." Lana smiled while she scrubbed the soap in her hand and used the suds to wash her body. She knew she was only making up Wendy's voice, but the fantasies grew much more detailed lately. Like she could almost feel Wendy's hair against her neck, the soft tepid breaths as her lover's lips caressed her throat.

"I miss you." Lana whispered, her slicked back hair falling over her neck. The droplets cascaded over her face like she was standing in the rain, letting it wet her body in any way imaginable. "I forgive you."

"I love you." Wendy's soft voice promised, and Lana could imagine that she would slide her fingers onto the small of her back to that special spot where it almost tickled but also felt amazing when she touched it. It made her think of the shower they has once shared, the sensually ribald encounters that transpired between the two of them behind that curtain.

"Miss Winters!" She opened her eyes at the voice just outside the shower room door, knocking lightly. "Are you decent?"

The whisper of Wendy's ghost evaporated, the tingling feeling she was getting inside disappearing into the bowels of her heart before she called back while squeaking the nozzle off with one final splat of the water. "Just a second, sister!"

"Hurry along!" She called softly, voice muffled from the other side of the door.

Lana dried with the small towel hung over a stained metal bar and pulled her fresh underclothes on, followed by a starchy dress and her sweater. She sat on the rusty chair and pulled on the navy socks and beat up shoes, scooping up the comb she'd been given and slicking her wet hair back. Lana sighed and was grateful that there were no mirrors in the shower room. She hadn't seen what she looked like in quite a while,but she was sure she wasn't very attractive. Not that it mattered that much anymore, but she used to be beautiful.

"There we are." Sister Rachel smiled at the now clean woman who smelled of clove soap and ushered her to the hallway. The air was listless and chilly and the all too familiar muffled sobs and wailing cries in the distance punctured the dry air like fencing metal. There were a few other patients walking around in the hall dressed similar to Lana. They all wore the blue uniforms, but looked disoriented, shot to pieces, and to say the least, unscrewed.

Passing the doors on either sides of the hallway, Lana peered into a few of the rooms on her way by. Rudy was furiously pumping his hand in his pants, sticking his tongue out and sobbing towards the ceiling and Martha was rubbing her balding head against the cinder locks in her room. Another patient, Emmie, drew on the walls with chalk and Lana caught her taking a bite out it and chewing thoughtfully as they passed.

There was an empty room with no belongings, or a patient for that matter, but Lana recognized the sweater lying on the bed. It was blue and white striped, strewn across the bed carelessly. The room was obviously lived in, and Lana could swear it belonged to Jen. But Jen wasn't there, unlike all of the other patients who were rising out of bed by how. She started to ask Sister Rachel about it, but they had already arrived at the common room entrance,

"Behave yourself." The nun warned as she opened the door to the common room, relentlessly happy tones of _Dominique _already drifting in to the hall. Lana didn't have any problem doing that most of the time. She scuffled out into the floor of the "playroom" and was overjoyed on the inside to see Kit sitting by himself, shuffling checker pieces across a chess board by himself.

"Kit!" She exclaimed, just exultant to see him alive. He started at his name, jumping in his seat before mustering a smirk when he saw her. Kit offered her the chair across from him and she leaned her elbows on the table. Kit was smoking a cigarette and he tapped the ashes off with his pinky into the tray.

"I thought for sure they'd -" Lana cut herself off and shook her head eyebrows raised entirely. "Dr. Arden?"

Kit shook his head. "No, not this time." In fact, neither of them had seen or heard of Dr. Arden for the past couple of days, at least since Kit had been locked up in solitary. "I've been with Thredson."

"Thredson?" She felt a pain in the deep pit of her stomach at the thought of their therapy sessions. Even the thought of Wendy now brought her stomach to pain thanks to his apomorphine treatments. But she knew it wasn't his fault. He hadn't hurt her on purpose. "What have you been doing?"

Kit took another drag on his cigarette, this time not even opening his mouth and letting the smoke puff out through his nose. "Extra sessions. Said he felt like I needed to - open my inner self more, I guess. Brain shrinker." He muttered under his breath as Lana lot herself a cigarette, holding it between her index and middle finger. She wondered if he knew anything about Jennifer. After all, they did have Dr. Thredson in common, did he know that she was the one who was convicted of killing his wife whom they had been completely positive of him killing? "But it's better than solitary."

Anything was better than solitary.

Lana was interrupted from her next sentence when the common room door opened and Dr. Thredson strode in. He was wearing a gray suit accompanied by a white dress shirt with a thin back tie. His hair was slicked back as well, shirt and dark, and his eyes peered out from behind his thick lenses. Lana quickly glanced down at Kit and back to the psychiatrist who was looking out the window, smoking a cigarette of his own. She left her half cigarette in the tray and strode over to him quickly.

"Doctor." She said quietly, getting his attention. It was always awkward to begin a conversation with him. This was because she knew he could almost read her mind, he knew the way brains worked. He knew how she thought, made words.

"Hello, Lana." He said softly, nursing his cigarette that seemed to put him at ease. "How are you?"

Lana lied and said she was fine. She could already feel the water stinging her eyes and she avoided his gaze to stare out the barred window. "I was wondering if you could-"

"I have something for you," he interrupted, adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose with his thick fingers. "Would you like to sit down?"

He led her to a couch cushion, kneeling beside her as if he were to propose marriage. Dr. Thredson slipped his hand inside his coat and emerged with a small object, rolling his eyes up to offer it to her. She took it cautiously.

Wendy's doe eyes stared back at her, the cigarette positioned in her right hand and with her fingers curled across her heart shaped lips. Oyster light highlighted her chocolatey curls as she smirked saucily back at her shocked lover who looked to the man for answers.

"I thought you'd want it." He said softly, his voice slightly upset as she stared at only a picture of the beautiful school teacher with such longing. "It is yours, after all. Is it not?"

_Click. _

"It's mine." She might have said it, but it was only a whisper. "They're going to take this away from me, I-"

"Shh." He said quietly. "They won't. You're going to hide it. I won't let them take it away."

Her eyes watered. They weren't supposed to have personal belongings and this certainly was personal. She slipped it under her shirt and bit her lip to keep from crying. "Thank you."

Dr. Thredson nodded. He seemed happy to make her happy, though there was a sadness about him today, something she couldn't put her finger on. "Lana, I believe with all of my being that there has been some terrible mistake with you, you don't - you don't belong here."

"Wendy, my - my lover locked me away here, Sister Jude blackmailed-"

"No, Lana." He stopped her suddenly, his hand skirting gently to grip her knee that has become exposed from the lack of fabric there. "Your - Wendy. It's credulous that something may have happened."

"Happened?" Lana could feel her heart racing, her hands beginning to become clammy from fingertips to wrists. "Like-"

"I went to her school." He took off his glasses and rubbed his nose where there were two pink indentations from the nose pads. "Where she works. I was about to talk to her, but she seemed so..." He paused and squeezed her knee tightly, causing her to flinch, but it wasn't with pain. "Blithe. Cheerful. I saw her chasing the children around at recess."

"N-no, she -" Lana found herself stuttering, lost for words as a lump formed in her throat. For a moment she felt that if she spoke another word, that lump would surely dissolve into a waterfall of tears. "What are you saying?" Of course she already knew what he was saying, she just didn't want to absorb any of it. "Wendy..."

Dr. Thredson established intense eye contact for merely a second before Lana looked down into her lap, feeling a tear roll onto her palm as she caught it. "Lana, I think she's moved on."

No, that was impossible. Wendy wouldn't - she _couldn't _just move on. That wasn't her, and Lana knew it, she knew it deep inside of her. She'd known Wendy all throughout college, they were best friends before they were lovers. She knew more about her than anybody in the world, and she knew she could say Wendy also knew the most about _her. _She couldn't just _move on. _Not from the life they had together, what they shared. What they were_ together. _

"She couldn't..." Was all Lana could manage, and she noticed Kit watching from across the room. Not necessarily able to hear, but he watched. Lana looked back down at her flirtatious black and white photograph and back up to Oliver Thredson. "She loves me."

"Maybe she did. But the Wendy I saw was quite complacent. She seemed content, and dare I say happy. I'm sorry, Lana."

Lana's grimace turned to a glare, not directed at invisible Wendy, but rather Dr. Thredson. What did he know? Just because he saw Wendy at recess playing with the children didn't mean she was strutting around, pleased as punch without her. She knew how she acted for her children - she acted as a second mother to some of them, putting on her concealing happy face when things went wrong. And she was good at it.

"No, you don't understand. That isn't how Wendy is." She pleaded, refusing to believe it. Refusing to believe that Wendy might even be happier, more free, without her. "She's the love of my life."

He rubbed her knee and this time she accepted the comfort. "I know, Lana. I know what it's like to be left out in the cold. Trust me. I do." He stood and placed his hand on her wet cheek, catching the tears with the side of his palm. "Shh, now." He leaned down and pressed his bow lips to the top of her head gently. "I know it must be hard for you to process. But I'm here."

She watched him disappear through the common room doors without looking back once. Lana could only stand the horribly buoyant song in the background for a few more seconds before she exploded off the sofa and pushed her way past a few wandering patients to the main corridor where the screams and howls became even more evident. Still clutching the photograph in her fingers, she marched up the stairs, nearly falling up them as she stampeded into the storage space.

It was underneath the staircase and many boxes and crates of items - a large tub of sneakers, broken restraints they were yet to find a use for - and there was one loose brick which she'd discovered a few weeks ago. Quietly, she wiggled it out until she could lug the cinder lock to the ground, pulling out the slightly crinkled piece kf later that Dr. Thredson had given her just a few days ago.

She stroked over the handwriting, memorizing each contour of the splotchy, inky cursive.

_Dearest love, _

_I'm sorry. It's all I can say, and I know you'll probably never forgive me. I don't blame you because I've locked you where the sun doesn't shine. I'm going to get you out as soon as I can. I'll do whatever I can until I die, because I won't let you rot there. You deserve more, baby. And I'm so, so sorry. _

_Wendy_

Lana felt the tears stinging her face relentlessly and she swiped at them angrily, practically slapping herself in the face. No, she couldn't feel. Wendy was coming for her. Dr. Thredson was wrong. He had to be.

She twirled the ring around her wedding band finger, stroking the pad of her thumb over the smooth stone for comfort. Wendy's ring.

XXX

"Come look at this!" Lana called from the living room while teetering on a step stool beside the sweet-smelling Christmas tree. It was decorated in beautiful bulbs and ornaments, blue streamers draped over the fir tree branches in undulant patterns amongst the beautiful twinkling white lights.

"I'm in the kitchen!" Lana could hear Wendy's voice over the sound of the oven timer going off and the record player playing _Rockin' Around The Christmas Tree_. Lana waited impatiently on the step stool until the other woman whirled out of the kitchen wearing a red apron and an oven mitt over her right hand. She placed her hands on her hips and leaned back so she could look at the beautiful Christmas tree. "Oh, it's - it's beautiful." She could no longer contain her grin as she took in the tree with wide pupils like a child standing outside a candy shop.

Lana leaned her back against the step stool's handle, marveling at their handiwork as well as she pressed her fingers over her lips. "Looks good, doesn't it?"

"It's impeccable." Wendy grinned, lured by the stoic beauty and majesty of the tree stood up in their living room. "Where's the star?"

Lana dangled the golden star in her partner's face, giggling as Wendy swiped at it with her oven mitt hand. "Come put it on with me."

"That stool gonna hold us?"

Lana shrugged and moved to make room for her on the top step. Wendy grumbled under her breath but took Lana's hand on the wobbly little stool until she was on the same level. To Lana's surprise, her arms snaked around her waist and around her until her hands were one on top another on her stomach, pulling her closer. Wendy let out a contented sigh as she pressed her chin to Lana's shoulder from behind and Lana could feel her body shift slightly on top of the weight often ladder.

"Let's put the star on." Lana smiled, turning her neck around to look at her precious girlfriend. She handed Wendy the golden tree topper, holding onto her waist and allowing her to lean into her hands to place it on the utmost top of the tree, finishing the decorations. It was finally perfect, and Lana leapt down daintily to look at it from below.

She reached up and wrapped her arms around Wendy's thighs, lifting her off the stool. She screamed, startled at her sudden loss of footing as Lana swung her slim body around, toppling her onto the couch before she dropped her; the entire house smelled like pine needles and sugar cookies, thanks to Wendy's baking skills, and Wendy's apron made her smell like flour and caramel. Lana leaned down on the couch and pecked her lips, smiling.

"The cookies are done." Wendy whispered, smiling against Lana's lips while placing her palms against her shoulders to gently push her away. "You want them to burn, baby?"

"We can make more." Insisting, Lana nudged her neck with her nose softly, exposing the soft alabaster skin and exploring it with her lips. Wendy groaned and pushed her off.

"You're killing me, Lana." She thumped her over the head with her oven mitt and rolled out from under her, rising from her knees off the floor and striding to the kitchen. Lana followed this time, trotting after her with a piece of garland trailing on her shoe. Wendy was taking the bell and candy cane shaped cookies out of the oven, laying them out to cool beside gingerbread men and wreaths.

"Can't catch me." Lana picked up a still warm gingerbread man and walked him across the pan while giggling to herself. "I'm the gingerbread man!"

Wendy leaned forward and bit half the head off, chewing thoughtfully while Lana devoured the arms like it was her first sugar cookie she'd ever eaten. "Dinner's ready." She pecked her lips and ran off to the other room where they both had set the table earlier. It wasn't much; just two plates, two glasses of wine, and a candle that was already lit. They ate by the light of the tree and the flickering candle that made it all the more romantic.

At some point, Wendy reached across the table to hold Lana's hand, smoothing her fingers gently over her knuckles. It made Lana's heart soar, not only with pride in her lover, but pride in the both of them. They had made this work for nearly six years now. And here they were on Christmas Eve, eating dinner together by candle light.

Lana wiped her mouth with the corner of her napkin and stretched her arms behind the back of her chair, looking towards the two small boxes underneath the tree's slow hanging branches. She was eager to open presents like she always was when she was a child, but she was even more eager to present Wendy with her own gift. She was planning the surprise for quite a while now and she could barely wait.

"Should we open presents?" Wendy suggested, looking towards the tree. Ever since they'd been a couple, they opened gifts on Christmas Eve, at least one. Lana burst from the table and was kneeling in front of the tree before Wendy was even in the room. Her partner laughed.

"Eager, are we?"

Lana pulled Wendy beside her so she was sitting on her heels, resting her head against her shoulder. Wendy reached for the first box and set it in Lana's lap and she excitedly stared at it for a moment before tearing off he metallic paper and opening the box.

"Wendy-" she started, holding up the garment. It was a beautiful, lacy piece of lingerie covered in intricate pearl stitching and ruffles at the bottom. In the very button of the box were black lace stockings accompanied by a band that went around the upper waist. Lana started to giggle and pulled Wendy in to her, crushing her mouth against her own. "You're a devil."

She shrugged. "Well, I'm already going to hell."

Lana was about to scold her for saying such a thing like that but she realized it didn't really matter. As long as she and Wendy were together, nothing else mattered for the rest of eternity. Nothing. And they were together. _The Bell That Couldn't Jingle _was playing in the background but neither really noticed. Wendy's eyes were light and happy, maybe just because of the Christmas spirit, but she reached over and scrunched her fingers on Lana's knee gently, smoothing her thumb there before setting another gift in her lap.

Lana blushed as Wendy snaked an arm behind her back, underneath her Christmas button-up sweater to stroke the small of her back. "Aren't you going to open it?"

"Oh," Lana suddenly remembered the box sitting in her lap, untying the golden ribbon and sliding her thumb under the perfectly folded corner of red foil wrapping, pulling out a thin white box. She held it to her ear and shook it gently, her brow furrowing. "Hmm."

Wendy was eager for her to open it and she smiled in anticipation. "Come on, just open it already!"

"Alright, alright! I'm opening it." Lana lifted the lid off the box, anticipating it to be much heavier than she expected, flinging it over her shoulder lightly. Her eyes immediately started to water, feeling her bottom lip beginning to quiver. "Oh, Wendy..."

The photograph was bordered in a plain black frame with silver edging, but the frame wouldn't really matter; it was the picture inside. Lana could remember the moment the camera had snapped, the split second they had posed, bodies immortalized on film. It was a color photograph, and the snapshot was taken in Lois and Barb's living room only a few weeks ago.

Mistletoe dangled above them and Wendy was leaned over with her arms around Lana's illustrious frame, her lips softly pressed to her lover's cheekbone so only half of her face was shown. Lana's own pictured eyes were closed and she smiled contently as if she was looking up at the mistletoe through her eyelids.

Lana stroked the glass concealing the moment frozen in time, careful not to leave marks with the pads of her fingertips. With a watery smile, she snuck her hand into Wendy's lap and took hers, pulling it into her own lap while stroking over her fingers.

"Well," Wendy began softly over the soft tones of _Silver Bells. _"We can keep it in the bedroom."

Lana leaned into her until her head was cradled against her collarbone. In this moment, she couldn't possibly be close enough to her love, and as she nestled her nose against her chest, inhaling deeply. Wendy smelled so lovely all the time. She had this perfume that smelled like carnations and whenever she came home from school, her scent was hinted with glue and Crayola. Now she smelled like sugar cookies and the own special scent of her skin.

"I don't - know what to say. I love it."

Wendy stroked a stray auburn whisp off her girlfriends forehead. "It's not really much. But we don't have any photos of just us."

Lana wished more than anything to be able to display the framed picture on the mantle for everybody to see. She hated hiding their love more than anything and she knew it hurt Wendy even more not to be able to proudly display their relationship for the public. Why should they have to wait until they were ready when they were so in love?

"I'll be right back." Lana promised, rising and leaning down to press her lips to Wendy's head. Her love looked up at her and smiled, sitting swan style as Lana disappeared into the bedroom.

She'd been hiding Wendy's Christmas gift for a few months now. Every now and then she'd check her hiding spot to make sure it was still there, untouched, and it always was. Wendy wasn't as snoopy as Lana was with Christmas presents, though she was curious. For the past month or so she'd been begging Lana to tell her what this secret gift was since she hadn't put it anywhere underneath the tree but Lana had done a a good job staying mum about it for so long. It was surprising too, since she usually spoiled such things.

She leaned down underneath the cabinet in the bathroom, reaching underneath the sink until she felt the small cardboard box that was sealed with masking tape. She couldn't tear it off and toss the box aside fast enough before she was rushing back out to the living room where Wendy still sat, admiring the framed photograph.

Without so much as a noise, Lana stood against the wall and watched her delicate extended fingers brush against the lower branches of the sweet smelling Christmas tree, her hair falling to expose the back of her neck perfectly. Her fingers became sweaty as she took a deep breath clearing her throat. Wendy turned around, smiling and patting the floor beside her.

"Oh, there you are! Come here, baby."

"Wendy," her voice broke, and immediately Wendy seemed to notice something was going on. Her expression became concerned and she leaned up, her delicate eyebrows furrowing.

"What's wrong?"

Lana laughed mostly to herself and tucked her own hair back while crossing over to Wendy on the floor, leaning down. "Okay, I've been planning this out in my head for - I don't know, a couple years now."

Wendy reassured her, patting her forearm. "Well, shoot."

Lana chuckled, looking up at the tree and back to the woman in front of her. "My Wendy." She took both of her hands in her own, leaning closer. "You've been my everything for - years now. My life was never complete until I found you. You're the only person I'll ever belong to, and..." She stuttered, lost for words. She'd practiced this a million times but now it seemed like there were so many things to say and she had to say them all at once. "I love you so much."

Wendy smiled without her teeth, smirking crookedly out of the corner of her mouth. "I love you too, Lana."

"I'm just - so stupidly in love, and I hope you don't find this dumb." She reached behind her and found the small black box, opening it to reveal the dazzling sapphire with a golden band. Lana blushed as Wendy sat speechless, shocked at the gesture. She knew what it meant. It meant _everything. _

"It isn't dumb, it's -" she fought tears, wiping at her face already.

There was nothing but Wendy as Lana touched her face, guiding it up to greet her soft, puppy-dog eyes. "So, will you-"

_"Yes." _She was cut off by Wendy's ecstatic whisper and she threw herself at Lana, embracing her and kissing her ear. "I'll be your wife."

Of course, she couldn't really be her wife, Lana couldn't technically marry her, but love had no boundaries. At least not in their home. Wendy was just as much married to her as a man was married to a woman.

"Here." Lana offered the other woman, taking her hand and slipping the ring onto her wedding band finger. Wendy would wear it with pride, and since it didn't look like a traditional wedding band, people probably wouldn't question so much, even if she had to move it onto her other hand whenever she left the house. It looked nice, like it belonged on her thin finger. "Mrs. Winters."

Wendy grinned and repeated. "Mrs. Winters."

"Wendy Winters." She smirked, liking the way it sounded on her lips. Wendy closed the distance between the two of them, softly caressing the side of Lana's lips where they pulled into a contented smile. Neither of them needed a ceremony to know they were already married. They were as sealed a couple possibly could be.

XXX

Lana was still twirling Wendy's engagement ring around her thumb, remembering the warmth in the feelings behind it. If what Dr. Thredson was right and she really had already moved on - if Wendy was _happy _without her. She could barely think about it. All this time her heart had been aching without her, pleading internally for her to rescue her from her sad fate.

But Oliver _was _right about one thing. Wendy hadn't come to see her. The first letter she received from her was what Oliver had given her a few days ago, the mysterious note. Lana sniffed quietly and traced over the swooped handwriting, _I've locked you where the sun doesn't shine. _Wendy was right about that. It was so long since Lana had felt anything but artificial warmth on her skin, seen the sun without glass between the two of them.

Wendy wouldn't just - leave her like that. She wasn't that kind of person, she loved Lana more than anything. They had laid in bed for hours and talked about the life they wanted together, the forever they would share. Their children. Their lives.

She felt the tears stinging her eyes as she felt the name "Evelyn" slip through her lips. The name Wendy always liked, their invisible, imaginary daughter that would never exist. It really only was a futile dream turned nightmare their naive minds made up in the twilight of the evening. Senseless vagaries.

Her hand curled around the note as she bowed her head against the cold stone wall, inhaling the scent of the paper against her nose. It smelled of just from being shoved inside the wall but she liked to pretend it smelled of Wendy's carnation perfume. The ring was slipping from her palm and she could feel the coldness of the band wrapped in her quivering skin. Shakily sighing, she folded it back inside the paper, reaching under her shirt to retrieve the photograph of her lover. It was too dark underneath the stairs to see her features distinctly but she could make out her chocolate curls bobbed at her bare shoulders.

Carefully she placed them inside the wall and heaved the brick up into place again, sealing the wall. But she couldn't seal Wendy away. Not just yet. Not even if she was happy somewhere while she was locked here. She hoped Wendy was free, wherever she might be.

**Fact: Lana used her camera (a Selfix 16-20 from the 50's) to take many pictures of Wendy. She keeps them in a shoebox in the closet and occasionally sifts through them when Wendy isn't looking**

**Fact: Jen and Elliot met in high school. She originally turned him down. **


	5. CHCI3

**First of all, is like to thank my lovely reviewers. you guys are so sweet! I love to hear what you have to say, always! I think you'll like this chapter :) **

**Ps, I think I will have the soundtrack up and posted on my profile pretty soon. Just some songs I've used in chapters and things inspired by it. I will probably eventually go back and add the song listings to the bottom of each chapter by the facts. **

Five

_"Let me read that back to you, hold on." Jen finished writing and flipped her notepad over, tucking the ballpoint pen behind her ear. "One cheeseburger, hold the tomato, a BLT with fries, and two Cokes?"_

_The guy sitting in the front seat was too busy to be paying attention, lip-locking with his ditz of a girlfriend while she giggled and thrust her fingers into his duck's ass hairdo. She made girly romantic noises while Jen popped her hip, sticking her tongue on the side of her cheek. Clearing her throat loudly and shifting, she felt the wheels on her skates shift underneath her slight weight. Laughter was chorusing from inside the drive-in diner and she turned to realize that a group of girls all dressed up on Saturday night were gossiping while sipping milkshakes against the large glass window, underneath the large blinking sign that read _CherryCherryCherry_. _

_"Alrighty then, we'll call that cool." Jen shrugged at the couple playing backseat bingo like she wasn't even there, closing her notepad and skating gracefully to the door to the diner. She was immune to any of those hot rod flutter bums with greased hair and deuce coupes. Never really rolled with that crowd anyway. _

_After ripping the page of messy shorthand from the notepad and sticking it on the rack next to a few others for the cook, she skated to the jukebox and rustled through the records, putting on Teddy Bear by Elvis Presley, turning around and ramming into Goldie, who was holding a platter of curly fries. _

_"Sorry!" She brushed her hands off on her skirt and reached to straighten Goldie's short fez that was ruffled on top of her dandelion curls. Her friend gave her a wink behind her cat eye spectacles and rolled backwards on the slick tiles that were scuffed with roller skate wheel scratches. She was always more of a tease than Jen was at car hopping, though she'd become quite the waitress over the coarse of the summer. _

_"Don't look now, sugar, but Mr. Fancy's here again." Goldie chided as she slid by with one foot up and poised. She was always much more anti-frantic than the average human being so even her skating was like a beautiful dance._

_"Huh?" She tried not to look like she was rubber necking and craned around to view the diner section of the restaurant. Goldie grinned and plucked at the sleeve of Jen's car hop uniform. _

_"Elliot Autumn's been here every Saturday for the past month!" She bumped Jen's hip and cackled at the shock in her friend's eyes. "Everyone goes on home and you always end up in that booth with him, don'tcha, Jenny?"_

_Jen blinked to conceal her surprise. Sure, she talked with Elliot when he was the last one there. But she never knew why he always stayed until closing time. "Yeah, we bash ears every now and then..."_

_"Oh, honey. He stays until closing to be with you."_

_She peered at Elliot who was by himself sipping a milkshake that was already half gone, watching her. Oh, Jesus! She hoped he didn't hear she and Goldie's conversation. "No, I don't think..." _

_"Come on," Goldie smirked, handing her a full tray. "Help me, I got a carload out there." _

_Jen attempted to follow her but stumbled in her skates, knocking into her counterpart again, who laughed. "Easy, Cherry!"_

_"Sorry, I'm such a klutz. I'm just - not paying attention." She offered, straightening herself out again. She didn't have to worry about the platter of food splatting out on the ground. She never saw Goldie drop anything, _

_"Sure you're not." _

_Outside, there was a group of teenage boys sitting on the hood of a piss yellow coupe, messing around with each other. Jen could recognize some of them - guys she and Goldie went to school with, stupid bulls, most of them. They came around _Cherry's_ looking for a good time on Saturday night and it wasn't a secret that Goldie obliged when she felt like it, but Jen never had. _

_"Hey there, baby." Smirked one of the guys who Jen knew was named Ricky Powers. He wrapped his hands on Goldie's waist and pulled her close to the hood of the car so her body was between his straddled legs. Goldie set the tray on the hood of the car and two other boys attacked it like they were wild beasts in the Congo. _

_"Ricky, baby, I'm workin'." Pouted the blonde in her Boston accent as Ricky smoothed his thick fingers over her classy chassis. He continued to sweet talk her as two of Ricky's friends, Pete and Johnny, grabbed Jen and rolled her closer. _

_"Hey Jenny, ya get your cherry popped this summer?"_

_She scowled at them. "Get bent!" _

_"Oh come on, it ain't nothin' to be ashamed of," Johnny warbled, stroking her waist. She slapped his hands away and crossed her arms. "I can take you out back and pop you if ya like." _

_"Stop being such an actor, John. You never popped a girl." Muttered Pete. "You want a real man, you and I can make biscuits together." He imitated a grinding motion. _

_Jen rolled her eyes. "Aren't the two of you just a fuckin' big tickle."_

_"Come on, Dolly. It doesn't gotta be anything special." _

_"Why don't you two nosebleeds fuck your fries?" She growled, realizing Goldie was too busy with Ricky to help her. "I hear they're a good time." _

_"Stop being a damn square, Jenny. You're such a rock sometimes. No wonder you're still fucking a wet rag."_

_"Go find some other chick to fuck and leave me out of it. You two will have to share her tonight." Jen rolled back inside, throwing open the door with a jingle and slamming it as much as a girl without any traction in roller skates could. The record player had stopped and Elliot was rifling through the records, trying to decide. _

_"Move." Jen said harshly, shoving him aside and punching the machine until it started belting out Hearts of Stone. _

_"Someone's in a bad mood." _

_"Shut your fucking bull mouth before I shut it for you." _

_He held up his hands in surrender. "White flag, Jennifer." _

_Jen sighed slapped her hands against the jukebox, leaning up to look at him. "They really are beasts, you know." _

_"If they wanna be forty-five still cruisin' chicks, they can be my guest." Elliot shrugged and straightened his newsboy cap on top of his floppy hair. "I hope they know hot rods eventually go out of style." With a shy nod, he added, "But chivalry does not." _

_She groaned inwardly. How did he know exactly what to say? "It's always the same old thing..."_

_He gently took her hand and laced their fingers, placing the other on her waist and twirled her around to The Fontane Sisters. He held her just so she wouldn't slip in her wobbly skates, a protective sort of manor so her nose was close to his neck that smelled of sawdust and cologne. "You deserve better_."

"No, no..." The bed creaked underneath her weight as Jen tossed and turned, restricted by the restraints around the bends in her arms and ankles. The leather was rubbing her skin raw with all of her restless struggling and she could feel clammy sweat beginning to perspire on the bridge of her nose. Her eyes popped open and she pulled one last time at the restraints, uselessly muttering "Shit."

"You okay, sweetheart?"

Jen looked up at the sound of the voice. It was soft, hushed in the darkness, and Goldie emerged. Her face was grayish and sickly looking, like she'd been swimming for too long and her skin shriveled up from absorption of the moisture. She was - different than when she last saw her. The two of them parted ways the summer after they graduated high school and they lost regular contact a few years after. Of course, she hadn't talked to her since 1959.

"Goldie?"It was such a relief to see someone, _anyone, _even an old friend she used to hop cars with.

"Stop strugglin', baby." She soothed, reaching for her wrist to clasp her fingers around it. There were lesions left on her skin, rubbed red from struggling in a restless sleep but Goldie's pale fingers were relief and something more; a calm that washed over her body.

"How'd you get in here?"

Goldie smiled and brushed the greasy dark hair from Jen's forehead but didn't breathe another word. Slowly, Jen could see the face of a woman that once was beautiful deteriorating around her like she was fading away, becoming so destructible that her skin was beginning to sag.

"Goldie?"

Suddenly there was a flash of light that blinded her for a short period of only a few seconds. Goldie was hanging from a noose strung out of frayed rope, her bloody feet hanging in her face. Jen screamed and closed her eyes, squeezing them tightly and wishing everything away. She wanted nothing more than to open her eyes and be in her own bed -

"No Goldie, noo, Goldie!" Screaming, she pushed the sheets out from under her, leaning up on her elbows, hollering at the fate Goldie met years ago. But the hanging body was already gone. Another woman stood in the middle of the room directly in front of her bed, facing away from her. Only her back was visible and she wore a skirt that was a soft brown tweed cutting off at her knees.

"Hello?" She asked cautiously, a hoarseness to her voice from the previous screaming. It wasn't Goldie anymore. It was someone else.

There was the sound of pitiful weeping and Jen realized that it came from the brunette woman. Even though they were face opposite directions, she could see that her sobbing face was buried in her hands.

"Can you help me?"

She recognized the voice. "Come here, I'll try - what's wrong? Are you-"

"_Please." _She proceeded to turn around and Jen bit her lip, eyes starting to water at the smell of rotting flesh. It smelled like spoiled fruit and road kill. The woman's wrists were rubbed raw, covered in a thick layer of pus from the heavy, cutting shackles on her wrists. Hot tears streamed down her poor face that was covered in lashings, one of them swelling her eye shut, another creating a large gash over her cheekbone. "Help me."

"I can't - I can't -"

The woman fell to her knees, the chains rattling on the cold concrete as she did. Her clothes were starting to demolish before Jen's eyes, turning to rags hanging off her body, and her skin became more and more taut until she was nothing but skin and bones.

"I made a terrible mistake."

The cell door opened and a shadowed figure strode in, cloaked in darkness as if the opposite of light itself had created it. Jen began to scream as it approached. It was easier in the light now to make out the mask of Bloody Face looming over her, the veiny, inside-out skin strung together to create the face of a killer - her killer.

"Don't hurt me-! Don't touch me, no!" She struggled against her restraints again, realizing that this was certainly the end. BloodyFace laughed inside the mask, the deep pools of aqueous blue looking out through the eye sockets taunting in a away like a predator picking at its prey before it was finished off, devoured with the sharp beak of irony.

"Oh, Jenny..." The voice inside the mask whispered, reaching up to pull at the stitched, bedraggled hair at the top of the mask, tugging until the mask was off to reveal her own face. She started to scream but her own hand clamped over her mouth, leaning in so close she could smell the blood and sweat from the cumbersome face mask. "Why would I hurt you?"

XXX

Dr. Arden closed the door to his study behind him, fumbling with the squeaky doorknob. There were no vanities here at Briarcliff, though he never expected them when he accepted the position as the head physician at the institution. Patients usually were supplied the necessities they needed to survive; food, water, medication.

There was a drinking cabinet that was otherwise out of use but Arthur took a chance, swiping a glass from the cabinet's shelf, pouring himself a glass of aged Gin. He wouldn't waste time in downing it - liquor like this was meant to be savored. He took a sip. Well, aged didn't necessarily stand for palatable. While swishing the stale liquid around in his mouth, Arthur moved to the radio,turning it up until the crackling symphony filled the room.

Through the window, he could view darkened storm clouds pregnant with rain. It had been fairly nice for the past few days but it was easy to see that it was going to become quite nasty again, maybe even over night. It was surprisingly calm before the storm, though. A grace period between beasts.

There was a light knock at the door of his study and he raises his head to it, expecting whoever it was to come in on their own. He did, and the Monsignor shut the door quietly behind him, brushing his hands off on his slacks. Compared to Arthur, he was quite a puny man, barely reaching his shoulder. After all, Dr. Arden was a hulking man.

"Monsignor," he muttered, swishing the alcohol around in his crystal glass, watching it eddy in patterns of divergent color. "Of all people, I didn't expect to see you on such a night."

"Yes, it's good to see you too, Arthur." Monsignor Timothy charmed, brushing his hands together stiffly while striding closer to the giant man. Arthur eyed him suspiciously; he knew the man well enough to figure that he was in need of something. He tipped his glass to his nose and eyed Timothy over the chords of Haydn's string quartet No. 42 in C Major.

"Spirits?" He offered after setting down his own glass that he downed immediately after the Monsignor entered his office. Timothy nodded after a hesitant moment of clarity, offering a curt smile and Arthur began to pour him the bottom of a glass of wine. "It's watered down a bit... Should be to your liking if I remember correctly?"

"Yes... Well..." He took the wine without sipping it, gripping the edge of the crystal loosely and swirling the purple around. His eyes trained always on Arthur until he took a curious sip, gulping rather loudly. Arthur smirked. He was a cowardly lion, if anything close to the spirit of a one.

"In my past experiences with you I've discovered that you only enter my dwelling for two reasons," he started, moving behind his desk to sit down in the creaky oak chair, leaning back with a newly refreshed glass in his hand. Before the Monsignor could oblige his statement, he interrupted. "One, you're about to propose an opposition. Two," there was a dry pause. "You're terribly deprived of alcohol."

Timothy allowed himself a stagnant chuckle. "If the latter was true, I'd be in here a lot more often." Strolling calmly but with agitation in his tense neck, he looked on with a severed expression as he approached the wine cabinet. A small, light smile spread across his thin lips as he circled the counter slowly as if viewing relics of an ancient past.

"I know you aren't here for the spirits."

Timothy pulled at his tight collar, swigging his wine. "No, I - haven't. I've business to discuss with you."

"Oh? Business." Arthur repeated, stretching out his injured leg in front of him. It had long since stopped bleeding and probably wasn't in many danger of infection but the skin had healed harshly around it like a horse with burdened skin cells. It was like a delicate piece of ply wood nailed to his thigh; the slightest bit of exertion could rip it open again.

"Yes. Business. I have concern for-"

"Your concern means all of nothing to me, Monsignor. If that's what you're here for -"

"No- I mean, please Arthur. Let's be civil, shall we?"

"Civil? Civility has gotten me nowhere, Monsignor, besides the emergency room - another lobotomy case is just that. Another lobotomy case. The normality of such a procedure is like playing croquet to me by now. I don't quite like you meddling in my own affairs."

Timothy's expression was colder than ever now but it didn't make Arthur squirm. He didn't feed off it either, but the median was a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach. "I'm not meddling. Just - taking precaution. I've got the notion that you've been performing more than... Everyday procedures, shall I say?"

"Everyday procedures... Monsignor, are you aware of what century this is? We are at the brink of medical advances! Never in a hundred years did James Corning, Rudolf Von Jaksch, Ottomar Rosenbach, believe that the world of medicine could exceed the boundaries of human nature and mankind itself. Are you so blinded by the white sheet over your eyes that you refuse to see the entirety of such advances?"

His counterpart pulled awkwardly at his white collar. "White sheet? You fail to see the red blocking your own sight! You have blinders on, like the lost lamb in the parable - you refuse to see what you're ruining."

"Ruining? I prefer the term bettering."

"No soul deserves to be turned to _nothing_." He spat angrily, though he was not very powerful. He was still a coward, hiding behind his God so often that he refused to see the monsters that lurked behind His holy cloaks.

"Nothing means everything." Dr. Arden stood, leaning onto his cane to support his healing wound. "And everything is humanity."

"Your therapies are highly controversial." He glared.

"Controversial." He chuckled, circling behind the impish man. "Why does everyone use that term to insult me? Do they think it gets under my skin?" He paused, setting his empty crystal glass on top of the cabinet. "I can assure you, it isn't bamboo under my fingernails, Monsignor. If that was what you wished for, why don't you go back to tending your own matters?"

Arthur heard his knuckles crack, though he was turned away from him watching the purple majestic clouds curling in cumulonimbus formations. Thunder bobbled, miles in the distance. "As curator of this institution, I feel that this _is _my business. I hired _you_, remember?"

"You may have hired me, Monsignor, but your actions do have consequences. What would the church think when they discover you've been allowing such - barbaric happenings in _your _institution?"

"My God, man. Have you gone completely -" he cut himself off, sucking in all of the breath he could at once. "You're threatening me."

"No, Monsignor. You're threatening yourself, aren't you?" Arthur glared. "Last I reviewed your history, you don't have a medical degree, therefore have no space to criticize me of whatever you please."

Timothy's voice was louder now. "I will expose you."

"In the process of exposing yourself, Monsignor." Arthur rocked on his heels factually, barely changing his expression for the next statement. "You have just as much part in this as I do, or anybody else does."

"As much part - excuse me?"

Arthur chuckled then gritted his teeth. "You truly are blinded by the cross, aren't you? Once you report me, the state and church will be all over you, Timothy." After a pause, he brushed his large hand over his bare neck, stretching his back.

"I've - I've not-"

"Right." There was no more arguing for the Monsignor. The quarrel was over and the true lion had won, once again ruling the pride.

With barely a scrub of dignity left, Monsignor Timothy scratched his short stubby fingernails on the surface of his hand, looking up through his cloak of embarrassment. "I've come to speak of an entirely opposite matter as well."

"Oh?"

"Your - creatures..."

It took every molecule of his being not to roll his eyes. "They're feral, of course. You haven't been near them, have you?"

"No, no. Not in a thousand years -" he wrung his hands in front of his stomach as if he was squeezing out a dish towel after scrubbing the windows. "I don't know what they are. In fact, I don't wish to know. But - what they used to be..."

"Outcasts of society, Monsignor. Do you think anyone would miss a depressant, a Manic, an acute bipolar?"

"I would."

"Let me guess, we're all God's creatures?"

Timothy ground his jaw then raised his eyebrows, the vein in his forehead beginning to protrude. He was the quietly angry type of man but Arthur had the notion that if he were to explode, it wouldn't be the first time in his life. "Yes. They are His creations. Dr. Arden, are you aware that there have been - occurrences outside of Briarcliff's gates?"

Dr. Arden lifted his head and moved the folded newspaper from his desk, resting his reading glasses on his nose as he read silently to himself. "A mild schoolteacher is attacked by a monster," he paused and raised his eyebrows, aware that Timothy was listening, gripping the back of the chair like a vice. "Miss Dana Ward states: "It was like a nightmare. Something with growths and deformed skin attacked me while walking to my car"..." Arthur trailed off. "Shall I go on?"

"You - _promised _me, Arthur. They are _not _to be outside the gates, they were protected in such an arena-"

"Quiet, Timothy. Before you say something you regret." Anger was boiling up inside of him. Of course, they were his creatures, his creations. He was their Dr. Frankenstein and they were the closest thing to his monsters. He found them the means of food ,took care of them like he was a zookeeper, but he hadn't been careful. _She _hadn't been careful. It was making him awfully upset.

"Arthur, it is time to _stop." _

"This is my career, Monsignor. My life! And the authorities will surely uncover _your _secrets if they're forced to invest upon me."

"I don't know what you think they are, but they are escaping and coming close to _killing _innocent people! That is not medicine, Arthur. That is murder, and I will put an end to it."

He leaned back, propping his injured leg on the leg of the desk to relieve some of the ache that comes from a gunshot wound. "How?"

The Monsignor was silent, as if contemplating. "I think your weakness lies where no one can breach it. But I will. Eventually."

"Do you know what I think? You are an invertebrate poltroon who doesn't have the guts to report me. Or do anything else for that matter. You've got your precious Briarcliff. So why don't you leave me be?"

Timothy clenched his jaw. "I can't. For the greater good."

Arthur chuckled. "The greater good. You say that as if you know what it means."

"Humanity."

"This is not your so-called humanity, Timothy. This is monstrosity. And you can't be much more superior than these beasts you speak of. Now, get the hell out of my office."

XXX

"Soup's on." Muttered the mess cook, slopping an amount of chunky beef-lasagna-leftovers onto Kit's tray. Half of it was already covering a few stems of limp broccoli and his weak slice of bread looked like it had just murdered the vegetables with the splatters of slop on its dough. It was a surprisingly good meal for Briarcliff. Not that Kit would touch most of it. The cook had a terrible habit of forgetting to wash his hands and who knows where they'd been?

Balancing his tray on top of his wrists and holding his shallow cup of water in one hand, he struggled to slide out a chair against the concrete floor for Lana, who balanced her own tray. No matter what happened to him in this place, he was still a gentleman. He might not have been the smartest man before Briarcliff but he was certainly one of the kindest.

Lana was muttering a thanks behind her stainless steel cup, gulping until she tipped the cup down and set it on the warped table surface. Now it was time to stomach the food. Kit took a lime-stained forkful of mush and shoveled it in, knowing it was most likely for the best. It was hard to tell what kind of texture it was; gummy beans with a sludge like jelly and crushed, soggy crackers. He shivered as it slid down his throat like a dry stone. The stuff had enough foundation that when he stuck his fork in it, the clumps held it upright without tipping it over into his crusty roll.

"You know, they say that if you use the same ovens to cook your meals _and _punish the patrons, all the nutrition is baked right out of your food."

Kit turned while still forcing a spoonful of mush down his throat, the fork awkwardly sticking out of the side of his mouth. "Grace?"

As soon as she smiled, Kit popped the fork from his mouth and let it clatter onto the table, rising to scoop Grace up in a tight hug. Her arms slipped under his and she pressed her forehead into his shoulder, probably just as elated to see him as he was to see her. When he pulled away, Kit cupped her face in his hands, surveying her to insure that nothing was missing, that everything was in place. She seemed perfectly fine.

"Grace, where have you - were they keeping you-" there was a silence other than the chatter over supper as he cut himself off, dragging out the empty ricket of a chair beside his own and guiding her to it. Grace was frowning now as Lana reached over the table to touch her hand.

"I've been..." She trailed off this time, looking up to Kit while forcing a smile. "I'm here now."

Kit smirked back out of the corner of his mouth, but he could tell there was something Grace wasn't telling them. She didn't just - show up all the sudden, there had to be reasons. There were always reasons. _But she's here now, _he reminded himself, sighing into his elbow as he shoved aside his plate. A small dent had been made in the mire of fleshy soup spilling out of the metal tray.

Grace seemed agitated as she tapped her nails against the surface of the table. Lana cleared her throat while hovering a forkful of shit by her mouth, as if she were wondering what was in it exactly, whether she should attempt to stomach it. Grace looked this way and that, ever so frightened at each minuscule noise. The clinking of stainless steel cups throughout the makeshift mess hall, forks scraping against plates, the impertinent mumbling of patients scattered about, munching on dry bread and gooey sludge.

Kit noticed her turbulence, reaching out to place a hand on her shoulder gently. She jumped in her seat, scrambling around with fists held in the air in a protective stance, growling like a wild woman who'd been left to fend for herself in the jungle. "No, no, Grace-" he grabbed her wrists and she stared blankly past his shoulder as if she was seeing something other than the muddling, mindless mess hall cooks. "It's me, Grace. Kit. Kit Walker, remember?"

Recognition suddenly returned to her face and she reached to touch his cheekbone with impatient fingertips. "Kit?"

Kit stole a glance at Lana who watched them closely. She was always watching things closely, which he consoled for when it came to paying attention; it could be a major asset. He was never very good at that, but he and Grace needed to talk alone.

"It's me, Grace. Come 'ere, get up." As softly as he possibly could, Kit grasped her arm and pulled her out of the chair, forcing her to her feet. She stumbled, reminiscing Kit on the effects of being anesthesized. It wasn't until he dragged her behind one of the supply racks that she grasped his shirt to keep herself from collapsing, falling to her knees and sobbing into her sweaty palms that quivered with each jar to her diaphragm.

_"A__idez-moi, s'il vous plaît! __L__aissez-moi partir, me libérer_!"

"What? Grace, slow down - I don't understand French, Grace-" Kit paused when he noticed a wound behind her ear. Blood was dripping down the back of her neck, sticky and drying in her hair, and when he dipped his fingers down to gently touch her ear, his hand came away a deep scarlet hue. "Grace? Grace, what's wrong? You're bleeding-"

"Kit, we have to get out of here." She wiped frantically at her tears, barely even noticing that a much more important liquid was expelling from her body at the moment, soaking the back of her collar with a disturbed ruddiness. "We have to get out of here before it's too late-"

"Grace, we can't - there is no way, you know how much I wanna walk out of these damn doors?" Kit kneeled and propped Grace against his knee, stroking her hair with one hand and pressing the fingers on his other behind her ear where the blood came from. "Grace?"

She looked up, eyes frightened and as confused as ever. She wore the expression of a woman who had lived in the same house her entire life only to walk in the door one day to find a completely different family of strangers living amongst her belongings. "I don't remember what happened. Kit, I don't remember where I was. I don't remember... What- where am I? Kit-"

"It's alright, Grace. I've got you now. You're safe."

"No, you're not." She murmured tiredly against his ear, but it did not loose it's frantic nature.

XXX

Jen didn't remember who released her from the bed restraints and out her in the straight jacket but ever since, she'd been rocking back and forth in the corner of the isolation cell, rubbing her chin on her knees. The frayed edge of the jacket had a unique canvas texture that was strangely comforting so she rubbed it under her jaw every now and then as she rocked, humming to herself to keep the sanity. From the outside looking in she really was a mental patient now, but she long since stopped caring about what other people thought of her there.

"Elliot?" She whispered against the concrete wall, knowing it would be impossible for him to hear such a sound. She remembered someone feeding him through a slit in the door earlier. They fed her as well, something reddish orange with lumps that looked like kidney beans or pieces of hardened gelatin, but she hadn't touched it. Smelled of pepper and ground beef but she wasn't taking her chances.

"Elliot?" Her voice was louder now and she felt a thump against the other side of the wall.

"Jennifer?"

She curled her hands inside the restraint jacket, feeling her eyes sting with tears at the sound of his voice. She hated being separated from him by nothing but a wall, especially since it was her own fault. Elliot was probably the only one who knew she wasn't a murderer. She was innocent.

"I'm -"

"Before you say you're sorry..." His muffled voice came from the other side of the wall. Surprising how well she could hear through the concrete. "Stop. There's nothing to be sorry about."

"I couldn't keep my hands off you." Jen thumped her temple against the cool surface of the wall, shifting so her shoulder rested against it to support her body. "I couldn't have stopped myself if I tried."

"I know, sweetheart."

She bit her lip. It wasn't hard to hear the disappointment in his voice. "I was gonna get out, Elliot. You were gonna get me out and we were gonna live in a little cottage in the woods, you remember?"

"Yeah, I do."

"We had the place all picked out. We had the money." She paused. "A place to be safe."

"How many times do I have to tell you? You're always safe with me, Jennifer."

Jen sucked on her lip to contain her sob. She was in deep shit now. Then again, she wasn't restrained on the bed anymore and she had free roam of the cell but it wasn't much of an improvement. "Elliot, I'm - seeing things. Every time I close my eyes I'm seeing - Goldie, I'm seeing Goldie. And this woman I knew. I don't even know her name and then I see-"

"What?" She could hear his palm brush up against the wall and she could imagine those chilly fingers were caressing her face in their trapped state.

"Then I see Bloody Face."

"As long as I'm here, you're safe. You're safe." He repeated, and she could almost feel his lips against her forehead, comforting her.

"Ell-iot." She gasped, as if suddenly realizing her fate. She was a damsel trapped in a dungeon and the dragon was Briarcliff, keeping her there, convincing her that her sanity was all but out the window. But she didn't kill that lady. She couldn't even hold a knife to the throat of a woman she never even knew. "I want out. I want to go home."

"God damn it, Jennifer!" He slammed something, probably his palm, against the wall, making ah rivaled noises at his wife through his teeth. Jen contained her tears, gnawing on her bottom lip, grinding her jaw back and forth while staring up at the ceiling. She hadn't the slightest clue what to do besides think of what they might do to her. Castrate her, probably. Everything was her fault. Everything was because of her. "I said I'd follow you anywhere, didn't I?"

"What if I really am a killer, Elliot?" It was barely a whisper but it very well may have been the first step in a positive direction towards the truth. "What if I - what if I killed that lady, Alma Walker? What if I - what if I chopped off her head and wore her skin-"

"Don't talk like that." He snapped, and she could tell he was trying to hide his fear and guilt with anger. Jen probably knew him better than anyone did and that was one of the quirks he never could work out. After all, everyone did have their rough patches where nuts and bolts were loose. "You aren't like Kit Walker."

"Well, what if I am?! Dr. Thredson says that - that the psyche can block all sorts of things out-"

"I don't give a damn what some - brain melter has to say about you, Jennifer. You are - you. I _know _you. I knew you when _no one _wanted to. That isn't you, baby, that isn't _you." _

"Well, if it isn't me, then what if I really do belong here?" She buried her face in the folds of her strait jacket, biting the fabric so he couldn't hear her cry out. "I'm going crazy here Elliot, I am going _insane. Completely bat shit, _like all the other people here and there's no way to stop it. It's like osmosis, I don't know how to keep it from seeping in through every fucking pore in my body, and I can feel - I can feel myself getting weaker and _letting _the dotage and delusion in and - help me." With a cough, she spit up into the canvas fabric, the orange substance trickling down her chin as she gasped for air. Now look at her, covered in vomit, getting sick all over herself. Falling apart at the seams. She was probably the lowest form of life she could possibly be in that moment.

"Jennifer? Baby, listen to me. Listen to my voice. You're not crazy. You're not crazy. Are you listening sweet baby? I'm right here."

"I can feel the hysteria." She whispered. "Trickling in, like wet flames, and no one can stop it."

"Listen to me. Listen to my voice. You aren't crazy. You can't let them claim you." His voice was fading away slowly, she could hear it faintly but it was almost like someone was slowly shoving cotton in her ears. Hot tears slid down her cheeks.

"You said you wouldn't leave me! You said you'd stay." The last sentence was a whisper against the cold wall as Elliot all but disappeared. She couldn't - she couldn't, everything was falling apart right before her eyes. "Elliot? Elliot, come back... Come back... Come _back." _

It was silent aside from the dripping coming from somewhere in her dank enclosure. Through the thin material of the restraint jacket, a cool shudder trickled down her spine. It wasn't hard to imagine something harrowing crouched in the darkness, keeping her under the hypothetical water that was slowly drowning her, as suffocating as a pair of penetrating eyes. Jen spluttered for air, trying to break the surface to sanity, imagining one face - Elliot Autumn's face, the one she could recall from normal life. She swallowed a nervous whimper, fighting the urge to cry out for him, but she already knew he was gone. No idea when he'd be back.

"She'll be safe? She'll be safe! She'll be safe." She could hear the words like they were far off in the distance, but it wasn't until she touched her lips to the musty jacket fabric that she realized that the words were her own, they came from her own mouth that moved in the mantra. Tears stained her face, drying just in time for more to wet her crusty cheeks. Her features felt like warped wood now, hands becoming numb as she curled in a small ball,of saliva, vomit, and dirt on the cell door. Sleeping deeply but restlessly. Dreams filled with the same chained woman with rotting wrists, claiming she needed help. That she made a mistake. Some terrible mistake.

Chains rattled as she opened her eyes, bursting from the ground with all of her abdominal strength. There were no chains to be found - the only objects in the room were her and the bed which she'd recently been chained to... How many days ago? Hours ago? Minutes ago? She banged her head against the wall and gritted her teeth, praying for the madness to end.

"Help me." The far-off voice begged, followed by the sounds of scraping chains.

"I can't help you!" Jen screamed, not knowing it was merely a whisper in a hoarse voice deprived of water. "Leave me alone!"

Shadows swirled around her, taunting like black satans prepared to drag her to hell. In a burst of panic, Jen forgot to recall she was wearing a strait jacket and burst from the ground, falling flat on her face. Her legs were made of gelatin, shaky as hell when she tried to stand. She substituted for leaning her chin onto the mattress of the bed, yanking herself up like a fish out of water, gasping as she made it to her feet.

"Hello, Jenny." Her own self, sprawled sexily out on the mattress smirked in a seductive manor, smoothing her long nails on an industrial file. With boredom, she tossed it away with a clatter on the floor beside Jen's filthy white sneakers. "It's about time you pulled your sorry ass off the ground."

"Leave me alone!" She screamed, and there was a rattling of chains again. Frantically searching, she whipped her head back and forth, but there were no chain links or chained victims anywhere to be found in the confined space. "What do you want?!"

"That's no way to treat yourself." She tsked, swinging one leg over the side of the bed. She wore a pair of high waisted fishnets accompanied by a sexy leotard with a sweetheart neckline showing off plenty of cleavage. "Not in your condition."

"Get away from me!"

"Oh, sweetheart... Sweetheart, sweetheart... We've only just begun, dear. I'm always with you. I _am _you." Her shadow self's smile was gruesome and insidious, conjured out of nightmarish dreams and deep dark corners of uncertainty and longing. Jen backed into a corner at one look into those feral eyes, swallowing her whimper as the back of her ratty head banged against the wall. "You look tense. Maybe a drink?"

Jen's voice shuddered with quivering fright, fighting the urge to break down and give in. It was barely worth fighting anymore. "Get out. Get out!"

"Hm." She chuckled deviously, smoothing over her barely covered breasts. "Perhaps I should pay Elliot a visit."

Panic struck her tone and she lurched forward with surprising strength for such a weakened state. "No! NO, don't touch him! Don't you lay a filthy claw on him you bitch, don't hurt him!" Jen threw herself at the feet of the necromancer, inching like a caterpillar to sob at her feet. She wore a pair of black high heels, the kind she'd never been able to walk in.

"Baby," she leaned down so she was crouched, though still higher than her level. Suddenly, with great gusto and force, her opposite self grabbed Jen's face, seizing it in her claws. She cried out and whined weakly at the pain of the nails gouging into her flesh. Shadow Jen leaned down so her lips were at her ear and hissed as Jen cried. "What's the use of fucking a corpse..."

Her voice was only a wisp of one. "What did you do... What did you do to him?"

The pressure left her face and she started to bleed from the claw marks left on her cheeks. The chamber was filled with ominous cackling, the hallow sounds of chains scraping stone, and Jen's screaming. Pleading for mercy. The apparition materialized in front of her, looking even more angry and evil.

"Goodnight." She smiled, pulling the Bloody Face mask over her head, and Jen felt the black heel connect with her temple. She was drowned in slumbering evil and there was no way out.

XXX

_Crrrrrk... Ksssssh. Rrk. _

Her eyes peeled at the sound of creaking hinges, biting the collar of the straight jacket again as a white-dressed orderly appeared in the doorway. He looked at her with pity as a pudgy nun with beefy arms and a hard face entered, accompanied by a much sweeter, soft looking Sister. Vision seemed blurred around her, features on the radar fading in and out as she coughed onto the concrete.

"Rise and shine." The orderly muttered, picking her up by the scruff of the straight jacket and forcing her to stand. It was the first time she had in at least twelve ours and she couldn't remember coming to before now since she was knocked out cold. She could feel dried blood crusted under her nose, the taste of rust on her fuzzy tongue.

"Let's get you cleaned off." The nicer looking of the nuns - Jen couldn't remember her name - started to unbuckle one of the clasps on the jacket, tossing it onto the bed once it was all the way off. Jen kept her arms tucked at her sides like a bird with folded wings, her chin slumped onto her collarbone as she swayed unevenly. The plump a Sister sighed and scooped up one of her arms and the male orderly took the other. While she was dragged down the hall, blinded by the flickering lights, the other nun followed closely behind them. The clicking of her shoes was unnecessarily irritating.

"Wash up." Plump nun instructed, shoving a slab of clove soap in her hand. "No funny business."

"Is Sister Jude letting me out?"

"I'm not on Jude's orders."

"Whose?" She croaked behind the stack of cleanish clothes shoved into her arms.

"I don't act on negligence. Get yourself clean."

After she had left been left alone in the showers and was stripped down, she crouched underneath the spout and clenched her fists, trying to scrub the blood off her face. It was dried and pulled away tiny bits of hair painfully as she washed the crusts away, scrubbing the dime soap into her hair that was in dire need of a washing.

"Come off, come off!" In man effort to scold the dried blood caked on her skin, she rubbed the soap on her skin vigorously until the skin turned a whitewashed red.

"Jen-en-en-ennifer." Bounced off the walls and she wheeled around, dropping the soap and quivering.

"Hello?" She jumped, struck with paranoia.

There was no answer whatsoever. The soap was retrieved off the ground and she swallowed, finishing her washing and dressing in the supposedly clean new set of clothes. They fit her even worse than the last set but this wasn't a fashion show and it covered her up.

"Jenny." Sister Mary Eunice met her outside, smirking devilishly behind her mask of innocent blondness. "It's been quite a week for you, hasn't it?"

"Only the best at Briarcliff." She snapped boldly, wishing she had the energy to claw her like an animal. She had to admit though, she lost a lot of her spitfire in there. She was a nervous wreck. It was easy to imagine Sister Mary Eunice's body transforming into something gruesome from the darkened world below, bowing over her like a serpent encompassing her with a menacing tail.

Jen felt lightheaded, reaching for the wall to support her small amount of weight, but the nun caught her arm before she could topple. "Ah-ah. Stay up, Jenny. We need you in tip-top shape."

"Hmm?" She whimpered, blinking to conceal her exhaustion and confusion.

"Stay awake." The Sister ordered, nodding towards the orderly. "Go along, Carl." With one swift nod, Carl turned to leave, striding down a long corridor into darkness and more flickering lights. "Against her better judgement, Jude's allowed you to be relieved of solitude." With a curt smirk, Mary Eunice swung the creaking door the the showers closed.

"You're just letting me out."

"Dear, do you find Jude such a devil? She has a heart deep down in there somewhere. Well, I believe her to. She scraped me off the bottom of a desk like a piece of sticky gum, and - well. God works in strange ways, doesn't he?"

"God doesn't control me."

"Well, He made the lowest forms of life; the insane, homosexual, and of course, you." She paused, pulling Jen down a long corridor with a swinging light fixture that wobbled back and forth like a child's jack-in-the-box. "But we are all His creatures and serve some sort of purpose. Even if it _is_to violently decrease the population."

Jen glared at her but was already feeling woozy again. Like she was just waking out of a yearlong slumber, her disequilibrium causing her to stumble left foot over right like a pigeon-toed toddler in its first year of development. "I didn't." She managed, reaching out for the wall to catch her. Instead, Sister Mary Eunice's arms cupped her body, suddenly thrusting something fuzzy and wet over her mouth and nose. Cotton.

"Nmmmm!" Jen struggled, kicking and thrashing like a fox that was just dragged out of its den unexpectedly. She spun around with the last of her strength, elbowing her in the gut but she was like a solid wall of cinder block and Jen fell, spluttering to the floor with spotted vision. The icy hand pressed the cotton over her face and she was forced to inhale the sweet smelling but foul smell, quick sharp intakes sounding like a wheezing made after a bucking bronco run. Like a fish on the deck, she continued to struggle until all light was doused.

**Fact: S****apphire represents truth, sincerity and consistency.**** E****ngagement rings ****made of the stone ****are given to express the commitment and loyalty of the****heart****, which is why Lana proposed to Wendy with one. **

**Fact: "Cherry" is a 50's slang term used to describe a virgin girl. So, when Jen calls Lana "Cherry" it is somewhat of an insult, though it might just be a nod to her auburn hair color. **

**Bonus Fact!: Elliot and Jen have been married since 1959: five years. He is the only one who doesn't call Jen by a nickname. **

**Thank you for reading and commenting kindly! :) I love you guys! **


	6. Kit Cat Clock

**I apologize if some of the stuff in this chapter is a little darker than it has been yet. It may be a little graphic, but nothing that can't be handled. I hope the beginning of this chapter makes up for that. Please let me know what you think! **

Six

"..._v__ember, hot chocolate, and a small cameo of a child's face, imperfect only in its solemnity. And these are the improbable ingredients to a human emotion, an emotion, say, like - fear. But in a moment this woman, Helen Foley, will __realize__ fear. She will understand what are the properties of terror. A little girl will lead her by the hand and walk with her into a nightmare_."

The kit cat clock mounted on the wall beside the entryway to the kitchen clicked each second away, his eyes rotating back and forth as the curved black tail did the opposite. He said it was past midnight, from what Lana could see of the hands ticking around in the dark.

_"You unlock this door with the key of imagination; beyond lies another dimension. A dimension of sound, a dimension of sight, a dimension of mind. You're moving into a land of both shadow and substance, of things and ideas. You've just crossed over into - The Twilight Zone." _

Horns and flutes blasted the volume on the television speaker as Lana sat up and blinked sleepily in the darkness, pushing her limp fingers into her hair. It still retained a curl from the previous activities of the day and she remembered putting on a pair of pajamas before she settled in for the night; long sleeved red and white pin stripes that hung off her body comfortably. The television's screen flickered across her slender legs that were covered up with a green fringe blanket that was usually draped over the back of the green striped sofa.

Lana yawned and stretched her arms behind her head. It was so late and Wendy's absence made her body shiver without the warmth beside her. She remembered lying her head against the back cushion of the couch and must have closed her eyes because she'd just woken up hours later.

It was some scary marathon on TV, and the last thing she remembered was the eerie tones of _Rear Window, _which happened to be Wendy's favorite movie. She never understood horror; why was it such an enjoyment to the following of scary flick geeks? They were always so mind-changing, she could never sleep afterward. Luckily, she'd only seen it long enough for Grace Kelly to enter the picture and dozed off before any of the scary parts.

Her legs were stretched out on the empty side of the couch where they had been bent across Wendy's lap last she remembered, recalling her partner's smooth, cooling palms brushing underneath the legs of her pajama pants and stroking up to her kneecap where it just tickled enough to make her shiver. Lana loved it when Wendy touched her in such an innocent way; there was something benign and sympathetic about the other woman's fingertips softly brushing over her skin that reminded her of a kiss, softly caressing her smooth calves as her non-busy fingers reached for popcorn.

Lana suddenly remembered the popcorn as she stretched her legs out farther, having all the room on the sofa now. The couch was almost the entire length of her body, but she was quite tall and svelte. The popcorn bowl was a porcelain blue one that was part of set of colorful plates, and the bottom of it was covered in kernels and white popcorn crumbs mixed with half popped crunchy pieces. Feeling drowsy though waking up out of her snooze, she scooped up the bowl, traipsing to the kitchen.

A loaf of bread was set open on the counter, the twist tie curled up like a baby green cobra beside a plate of crumbs and half a peanut butter and strawberry jam sandwich. The jars of jam and peanut butter were left out too, a butter knife skewered in one of them and left carelessly over the jam jar. Lana smirked; it was the evidence of one of Wendy's midnight snack excursions. She didn't mind cleaning it up - her girlfriendwas pretty forgetful lately and often stopped in the middle of doing one thing to start another.

The other half of the sandwich was forgotten and all but abandoned, so Lana took a bite and leaned her hip against the counter, refusing to look out the kitchen window for fear of catching the neighbor digging a hole in their backyard for a corpse covered in a sheet. She hadn't seen much of _Rear Window _anyway but it already left a scar on her.

She opened the fridge and poured herself a glass of milk, gulping it like a child to wash down her sandwich before setting it, along with the dirty plate and butter knife, in the sink. On her way back to the living room, she flipped off the television set, which was still playing the late night _Twilight Zone _marathon, and shivered while thumping into the chilly hallway with freezing feet. It was eerily quiet in the house without the comforting sounds of the TV and soft flickering lights on Wendy's face.

The hallway was dim, the first room, "Wendy's room" for the sake of visitor inspection, empty of all life besides, perhaps, a spider that might be hiding under the bed somewhere or a stranger lurking in the shadows. Wendy never slept in there unless, for some odd reason, they had a guest staying over. Of course, she kept clothes in the closet and extra pajamas hung at the bedpost, but she hadn't slept in her own bed for years. Down the hall was the bedroom that was "Lana's", where the both of them slept, but Lana found it empty.

She took off her earrings so she wouldn't forget, hanging them on the jewelry tree before gently setting her bracelet and watch into the tray of her jewelry box. The woman never could stop herself from taking a moment to admire her curly _L _pin she usually wore on her lapel. It had been a gift from Wendy when she scored her first job as a reporter for the small town newspaper a few years ago. She wore it all the time.

Lana wrapped her arms around herself, pulling her robe off of the right post at the end of the bed. Wendy's blue quilt robe still was draped over the left side of the red comforter, folded half neatly, and her matching slippers were halfway kicked underneath the bed. But there was no Wendy here. The left side of the bed, Wendy's side, was empty and cold, the bed sheets still pulled over the mattress.

"Wen?" She whisper-called into the bathroom, but the light was off and door ajar. She knew Wendy wasn't in there but it seemed worth it to check for ax murderers hiding beneath the depths of purgatory that was the playfully tiled bathroom. Huffing a nervous breath, she flipped on the switch, illuminating the space. The shower, complete with white plastic curtain and yellow fabric overcoat was empty, contrary to her nervous qualms. Sighing with relief, Lana shut off the light and continued down the hall, shivering in her robe.

"Damn it." She muttered, realizing why the house must be so cold; the window at the end of the hall was open, the gossamer blue curtains she and Wendy shopped for when they first moved in was fluttering in the breezy late-September night air, gusting polar tempests into the otherwise quite warm and snug home. She shoved it closed, sneaking a glance out the window.

A pair of headlights flashed from the road. Other than that, the night was comfortably quiet, but she couldn't help paying attention to every little noise in the house. Lana Winters didn't get scared often but a psychological horror would do that to her.

"Wendy?" She called again, poking her head up the set of three waxed wooden stairs going across the length of the hallway to the final portion of the house. The carpet ended there and as she mounted the small steps to the platform, she entered the domain of smooth finished wood floor. This section of the house used to be the guest nook, one small room overlooking the yard that they barely ever used. It was time for it to start sinking in that it would no longer be used for "guests" any time soon.

She should have immediately known where Wendy would be all along. The restlessness, the half eaten peanut butter and jam sandwich left forgotten on the counter. She poked her head into the room and smirked in the dim gray light to see her lover perched in the rocking chair, rolling it back and forth in a gentle stupor with her foot as she lay her head on the back of the chair.

"Hi." She twinkled in a voice of beautiful exhaustion. "I'm glad you're here."

Lana was too. Her body had grown cold with the opened window without Wendy's ever-growing warmth beside her and it felt nice, even after a few years of living there, to have a home, somewhere to come after work. She thought for certain years ago that she'd be living in an apartment all alone for the rest of her life, coming home after work to an empty room smelling of nothing but cleaning supplies. She never thought the word home would be associated with another woman, but this place was homier than anything else in the world in her eyes.

"Do me a favor and smile a little bit, darling." Wendy whispered tenderly and Lana had no trouble smiling, hoping Wendy could see it in such darkness. It was funny how even in the still of the heather night, the woman could make a dark room warm and full of substance.

"Should have known you'd be in here." Lana crossed closer to Wendy, scuffing her bare feet on the cool wood floor. "But I thought you'd be in bed." While placing one hand on top of the brunette's head, she tipped her face up and slid her fingers over her cheekbone. She hadn't gained much weight in her face but it was enough to make it a flush Victorian color like a green apple with hidden hues of pinkish red.

"No, too late to be tired." Wendy yawned attractively, lifting her head off the back of the chair. Like Lana's, her hair was ruffled slightly and she wore pajamas - her favorite pair that were maroon and brown striped silk, buttons all the way up to the collar on the short sleeved smock that felt like water underneath Lana's fingertips as she brushed tender fingers over Wendy's shoulder. "I thought you'd sleep the rest of the night on the sofa. I covered you up." She reached back to take Lana's hand that rested over her shoulder loosely.

Lana roamed to the front of the rocking chair while still holding onto Wendy's hand, plopping gracefully in a bundle beside the other woman's legs that were bent out in front of her comfortably. Wendy laced slender fingers into her hair, braiding it softly and undoing the silky billows before styling the flattened curls into something new.

"You should rest." Lana yawned quietly, wrapping one arm behind her partner's legs and hugging them while resting her head against her knees. "It's gonna be a long day tomorrow if you don't. Are you restless?"

"Not restless," Wendy paused, slipping her hand onto Lana's neck. The curtains were draped aside and tied on both ends, soft shades of tan, and the moon shone through with blue light illuminating her beautiful face in the otherwise gray room. "More nesting, really."

She couldn't help but smile in the darkness as she slipped her hand up Wendy's knee, letting it rest in her lap where Wendy stroked over the surface so lightly that it gave her a small, intimate thrill. Wendy always knew just how she liked to be touched and where.

"Kit cat clock says it's almost two in the morning." Lana mumbled against her knee, inhaling the scent of her skin and laundry soap as Wendy trailed her nails down, gently scratching them over Lana's arm. She shivered at the feeling it gave her. It was somehow so comforting to know that Wendy was the only one that could ever make her feel that way.

Wendy smirked and started to make an irritating ticking noise and Lana shoved her knees, sending the woman into an intimate fit of giggles that were only for Lana.

"I don't know why you have to buy such gaudy stuff for the house." Lana added, smirking lightly, pressing a kiss to the silky pants leg of her lover's pajama pants.

"He wanted to come home with me."

Wendy was always giving life to inanimate objects - having a vast imagination and spending her days with eight year olds coloring technicolor rainbows with crayons and pasting on faces to scare crows and bats probably did that to her.

"You look tired." Wendy pointed out, smoothing a thumb over Lana's ear.

As if on schedule, she yawned silently again and nuzzled Wendy's knee. "All the painting and decorating's finally catching up."

Lana noticed that after she spoke, Wendy was looking around the dim room admiringly, then back down at Lana with the same proud eyes. But no one could be more proud than Lana was of Wendy.

The room was finally perfect; the walls a custard cream color, soothing and gentle, accompanied by white cloud wallpaper and portraits of two fawns frolicking in a field of pansies and lilac, a bear overlooking the misty mountains of gray. The crib, wooden with a light birch finish and soft cotton mattress, yellow blankie draped over the railing, stood towards the right side of the room, tallying patiently and almost royally.

It wouldn't have to wait much longer.

"I love this room." Lana chorused quietly, knowing Wendy loved it more than any other room in the house. It wasn't just the decorations, the furnishings, it was the idea of it. What would reside in it, why the two of them would enter the room in the first place. No wonder she often found Wendy here when she couldn't sleep. After tossing and turning uncomfortably in bed, the other woman would give up on rest and come there. Sometimes Lana followed her but there were also those times where she knew she'd probably like alone time.

"And it's finally perfect." It was. Right down to the last stroke of paint, the mobile hovering over the crib that turned slightly in an invisible draft. It was fit for an angel. Lana and Wendy spent weeks gathering the supplies to make the guest bedroom something much more intriguing.

Lana closed her eyes, resting her forehead against Wendy's kneecap and increasing the grip around her legs, smoothing over the back of her calves with the pads of her fingers as she inhaled deeply. "I think..."

"Hmm?" She could feel Wendy stretch her back with her arms out in front of her, making a pleasured strain noise before leaving her hands resting on Lana's shoulders, pulling her hair all to one side of her neck.

"This room is finally ready." The reporter smirked, feeling the backs of Wendy's fingers stroking her neck. She lay her head in her lap, letting her caress her ear, moving her available fingers to the soft hair that grew behind it like a small mine of thatch.

"Thank God, never thought I'd see the day."

Lana agreed silently, but she also never thought she'd see a day that Wendy was like this either. She never saw her so happy - they'd always been perfectly fine in one another's company but she always knew what Wendy wanted in a silent plea of desperation she rarely talked about. She knew Lana couldn't give it to her so she refused to press her on the subject. But then again, maybe that was why she liked to hear that story over and over. Adding things along the way, changing things here and there.

"Lana?"

She opened her eyes, realizing they'd fluttered closed and her breath had become soft. "Mmhmm?"

"I need you."

Lana's heart fluttered. Something in her always felt a little giddy and frantic whenever her lover said that. The slight heart palpitations jarred her and she sat up straighter, sliding her hand farther into Wendy's lap until her fingertips reached the softness of her abdomen where her shirt fit a little too snugly. Her tense abdominal muscles seemed relaxed at her gentle touch and Lana rested her chin comfortably on Wendy's kneecap as she continued to rock the chair with her foot on the floor, snaking her fingers around to cradle the side of her solar plexus until her hand was warm and palm facing inwards to her semi-hard skin.

"I'm right here, baby." The words left her mouth with idleness as she gingerly reached for Wendy's hand, peppering kisses on her knuckles, flipping it over and curling her fingers in her palm. She knew Wendy's mind well enough to know when there was a nervous sea brewing deep down. Sometimes it even made her feel sick, but even in those times Lana stroked her hair off her neck and rocked her back and forth, shushing her as she pet her head until she was nearly sleeping. Sometimes Lana needed that too and Wendy never failed to provide the comfort.

After a prolonged period of quiet love, Wendy's sotto voice broke the silence, her fingers curling over the other girl's shoulder. "Will you tell the story again?"

Lana smirked at Wendy's childlike request, reaching back to take her hand. "Again?"

"It might make us sleepy." She smirked and shrugged lightly, winking in the darkness. "I'll jump in once you start."

Lana was more than happy to oblige the woman's request and cleared her throat quietly, as if she was afraid she might startle the timid ghost in the room, leaning her head back so she could look up at Wendy. Even upside down she was irresistible in her tenuous, delicate state.

"Once upon a time, Lana and Wendy lived in a house." She began as she always did, leaning back against Wendy's legs again as she rocked even softer in the rocking chair. "The house was perfect, the kind that shines from the inside out. Wendy was always buying creepy knick knacks no one else wanted."

Wendy shoved her gently and snorted out of her nose. "And Lana was always leaving her shoes in the hallway, and her purses on the table, and her plates in the sink-"

"Okay, okay. We get it, I'm a slob." She paused and wrapped one arm tenderly around Wendy's legs. "The point is, Wendy liked to save things no one wanted. She was very kind and cared about everyone that came into her life. And sweet. And maternal." She paused. "Lana loved every little thing about her, down to every freckle and birthmark on her skin, every tune to her voice, but she liked that about her best."

"Lana was the pluckiest, most curious woman anyone had ever met." Wendy cooed humorously while slipping her palms onto her lover's shoulders, starting to rub gently. "She knew she had to do what she had to do, even if she didn't like it sometimes. Wendy was always proud of her."

Lana beamed sleepily, though she wasn't too tired to continue the story. "I'm proud of you too, sweetheart." She shivered as Wendy smiled over her, brushing her auburn hair off her forehead. The pads of her fingers were soft, comfortable, familiar. Things didn't make sense without this - Wendy by her side, no matter how hard it was to have this relationship. It would be even harder not to.

Wendy giggled. "Keep going."

"Oh. Right." She yawned, blinking the sleep furiously from her eyes. She knew if she closed them for a second too long, she'd be out cold against the rocking chair. The story was too important to fall asleep. "Their house was a small cottage on a quiet street with little distraction from everyday life. But it was the perfect location - the kind of house a newly married couple would want."

Lana could not help but notice the crooked smirk playing at the corners of Wendy's lips before she yawned and sunk into the paisley cushion on the chair. "What'd it look like, baby?"

"Hmm." She tried to think of a way to describe their house. They'd lived in it for three years - moved in after Wendy scored a teaching job at Alcott Elementary; Lana fresh-faced and just thirty, Wendy a narrow spinster of twenty-seven years old. Lana remembered Wendy scooping her up and carrying her across the threshold of the back door. The back door, of course. Never the front. They didn't need the neighbors gossiping about the new neighbors.

"Once, it was a pearly white, but when Lana and Wendy moved in, it had faded to a creamy gray." Lana started, the writer in her taking over. It didn't matter - she knew Wendy loved it when she was swept away by their story. It added something different to it every time. "The porch was perfect for quiet evenings of sitting on the steps, putting carved jack-o-lanterns at the base of the railings during Halloween time. There was a tiny garden in the front, and of course, Wendy gardened it. Lana couldn't keep a plant alive."

Wendy smirked at the truth in her last sentence but didn't reject to cutting in. "How long would Lana and Wendy sit and talk in the garden?"

"Oh, hours." Lana whispered. It was true. Wendy would wear scrubby overalls and old ripped blouses with the sleeves rolled to the elbows and Lana would help her plant lattice flowers and perennials while they laughed and talked. She loved those moments, even if she wasn't the one who was any good at gardening.

Lana snaked one finger along Wendy's ankle, stroking the supple skin softly until Wendy flinched at the tickle it gave her. "Aren't you tired yet?"

She pinched two fingers together. "Only a little."

"Only a little more, then you have to get some rest."

Wendy silently agreed by lacing her fingers into Lana's auburn-y hair, lifting her hand to her own cheek to manually stroke Lana's knuckles over it. Wendy's cheek was cool and perfectly soft against her fingers and she willed Wendy to keep doing that to her hand. It felt safe to have Wendy holding it.

"Lana always wanted to give Wendy a baby." Lana's words were a mere whisper and Wendy's deliberate stroking of Lana's fingers didn't cease; she made them travel limply down her neck, over her shoulder and up and down until they came to her abdomen. They twitched placidly at her expanded girth as if she knew of a secret that somehow could hide behind fabric like it didn't exist.

"A wonderful, gorgeous baby." Wendy whispered, and when Lana looked up, her eyes had fluttered closed loosely, as if she were in a lovely, attractive trance. "One that was bright and cheeky like its Mama. And had a knack for adventure, so courageous. Took after its mom and liked to write."

Lana grinned in the darkness, beaming with pride for Wendy. _Her _Wendy. "But beautiful and shy like its Mommy. High cheekbones and button nose." She watched Wendy's nose twitch subconsciously and she felt a deep satisfaction in the pit of her stomach. "And it had all the love in the world."

"Mmhm,." Chorused her lover, and Lana realized the chair had ceased rocking and Wendy's breaths had become stilled, even and quiet. She recognized those breaths. She was falling asleep.

"You're tired." Lana scolded in a voice that was surprisingly motherly. It startled her a little but she also - liked it, somehow. "If you don't go to bed, I'm calling the doctor first thing in the-"

"No, baby, wait." Wendy whimpered, reaching out for Lana with her eyes closed. "I want to hear more."

"There's always time for more." She promised, leaning up on her knees to shush her quiet whining with a soft peck to her full, tepid lips. "You're gonna be tired tomorrow, and you'll regret it. Do I have to carry you?"

"Alright, alright." Her eyes fluttered open, ones that were lovely and strong, like you'd see in an angel. To Lana, she _was _perfection, even with her flaws.

Lana was already off the floor, offering Wendy both of her outstretched hands. With gentle, delicate pulling, and a little help, Wendy was out of the rocking chair and into Lana's arms where she held her, pressing her chin into the other girl's shoulder. Her fingers stroked up and down her abdomen and widened hips. But she wouldn't hug too tightly. No, Wendy was fragile. And the most important thing in the world to her.

"Told you you're sleepy." Lana teased as Wendy swayed back and forth, blinking lethargically to conceal her exhaustion. Wendy stretched her arms behind her, placing her palms on the small of her back to support the fullness of her middle. The contours of her body seemed somehow more rounded and feminine, gently swelling and fecund. A delicate _Q _in form as she used her arms to support her full tummy where the fabric of her satin pajama fabric pulled a bit too cozy. "You can barely stand."

"Inertia from the rocking chair. It's third grade science." She smirked, allowing Lana to slide her palms onto her middle. Lana never expected her belly to be so cushy - like a little home with discreet abdominal protection, the ideal place to live. Safe, buried deep down where Mommy would protect at all costs.

Wendy brushed up the fabric of her pajama top so it was bunched below her breasts, guiding Lana's hand over her protruding belly button. It was soft, smooth skin, nothing Wendy's lover ever expected it to be. Wendy then smiled, leaning in to Lana so their foreheads touched softly.

"I wanna finish that story in bed."

"No promises."

Wendy leaned back into her palms at the small of her back, reaching to take Lana's hand. "I love you."

For some reason, I love you didn't seem like enough, so Lana brushed her lips against Wendy's forehead to return the gesture. "I love you, baby. Now, let's get you to bed."

XXX

"The marrow of Job's comfort lies in that little word "My"- "My Redeemer", and in the fact that the Redeemer lives. Oh! to get hold of a living Christ. We must get a property in him before we can enjoy him." The chapel chanted in a mantra, like an army of sleepy robots rubbing their eyes at the sun streaming through the stain glass altar. No one was complaining - it was the closest they ever got to feeling real warmth and it had a sort of redeeming effect.

Lana shook her current daydream from her eyes, refocusing slowly as if she was being pulled from a mud puddle. Pieces and fragments of it stayed with her, Wendy's doleful touch, the feeling of her lover's fingertips stroking against her legs. She fought to hold onto it, the one thing she might have in this place, even a house of worship. She was going to hell anyway, unless she was "cured".

"Ifs, buts, and perhapses, are sure murderers of peace and comfort. Doubts are dreary things in times of sorrow." Lana mumbled under the crowd bunched together in groups of pews. This morning an usher, really one of the orderlies, had escorted her beside Margaret, who rocked her doll and spoke to it, calling it a whore every now and then but never ceasing to love it. On the other side of her was a woman of her "category", Shannon, who spoke in a raspy voice, things other than devotionals from the book. She spoke to herself in different voices.

"Like wasps they sting the soul! If I have any suspicion that Christ is not mine, then there is vinegar mingled with the gall of death; but if I know that Jesus lives for me, then darkness is not dark: even the night is light about me."

Lana didn't speak out loud but made a real effort to make it look like she was pronouncing the words. If Sister Jude or any of the other nuns caught her mouth not moving, she'd be in for trouble. The truth was, she had too much on her mind right now. Probably due to the persistent daydreaming that took place whenever her mind wandered, hopping about like a lost rabbit.

"God forbid that our positiveness should be presumption. Let us see that our evidences are right, lest we build upon an ungrounded hope; and then let us not be satisfied with the mere foundation, for it is from the upper..." She trailed off, letting her lips from unintelligible words as she realized the empty seat in the front pew, two in front of her. Jude always made sure to parade Jen to the front so she could be "closer to The Lord" and she hadn't been missing once.

Her eyes snapped up to Kit's, who was sitting on the opposite side of the chapel, holding his Bible in front of him. Every inmate was handed one on their way into the chapel before they were seated; they couldn't be trusted to keep track of them, so Lana and everyone else received a new one every day. Kit glanced at her once and rolled his eyes down to the book, pretending to read again.

She knew how strict they were about morning devotionals. Six a.m. sharp, no exceptions. There would be a price to pay if you weren't there, dressed and ready to praise The Lord with all of your soul and being. It was a delight for the Monsignor to preach his willful God upon Briarcliff, easier than actually helping them.

Glancing back up to the altar where Monsignor Timothy was leading the chant, she eyed the obvious empty space in the front row. Just to make sure, she checked behind her. No, she wasn't in any of the pews. Jen was nowhere in the chapel. She hadn't been for days.

"What?" Kit turned to mouth, keeping one eye half on Sister Doris, who watched over the pews on the right side of the church.

"Jen." She mouthed, eyeing the unfilled space. He stared at it for a moment and shrugged, looking back to the altar. He wasn't about to get in trouble again and Lana didn't blame him. He was only just starting to dig himself out of the pit he'd been thrown into.

They eventually all uttered a meek "Amen," and closed the Bibles in a chain reaction of fluttering dust and allergens from the antique pages. The collection of them was probably left over from some time just after the war. Lana could almost smell the gunpowder. She was only a young teenager during the war, but it was a smell that stayed with her.

"Hey, Lana." Kit caught up to her as they were paraded out of the chapel and into the hall where they would be head counted and escorted to breakfast. He shoved his way through the mass of other patients, using his elbows for force until he scuffled in the flow of the crowd. Lana gave him a half smirk for good morning. He was slightly shorter than her, but then again, she was always a tall and gangly girl - luckily, she'd grown into a statuesque woman.

"Jen's spot was empty again." She muttered as a nun weaved into the crowd and took the old man in horn rimmed glasses and a newsboy cap, Ronnie. He laughed uncontrollably as she guided him away - he was one of those who Lana still wasn't sure about.

"Did ya see her yesterday?" Not that Kit had anything to do with her disappearance, but he might know something. He spoke to Grace often, who occasionally had information she heard through the grape vine. Listening closely paid. But Lana'd barely seen Grace during the past few days. She lit her a cigarette once because she seemed to lack the motor skills to.

"No. She hasn't been to devotionals for three days. At least I haven't seen her. The last time we spoke - it was, I think, Tuesday." Lana nodded, stopping against the cinder block wall of the mess hall. The assembly of plates always went slowly in the morning and she knew she'd have to wait a while in line. "We talked Tuesday. The hydrotherapy room."

"She could be sick."

Lana shook her head, getting an uneasy feeling. "I don't think so."

Kit picked up a titanium tray and handed one to Lana, gathering silverware for the both of them. "Did she get out?"

There was only a moment of pondering before she looked back ardently. "If someone got out, it'd be one hell of a show."

Kit agreed as one of the mess cooks slapped something that was both mushy and gritty onto both of their plates. It was even more unappetizing than the meals from the previous day and Lana's stomach gurgled. She might do just about anything for pancakes.

"So, do you think... solitary?"

It was hard to tell. Lana stirred a weathered metal fork in her breakfast mush, pressing her chin into her palm sleepily. It was impressive if you got a full night of sleep at Briarcliff. When she couldn't sleep, she tried to remember the feeling of her and Wendy's bed. The weight of the covers over her body, soft feather pillows like flower petals to sleep on.

"Kit?" She interrupted her own train of thought as Kit shoveled a small forkful into his mouth, testing the texture. "How long were you in solitary?"

Kit made a face of disgust as he forced himself to swallow. "Probably three days, somethin' like that. Why?"

She leaned farther into her palm, pressing her elbow into the table. "Did they keep you - tied up?"

"You mean... Yeah, strait jacket and everything." He sipped the liquid from his stainless steel cup that matched the dull, washed out trays that might have once been shiny like silver. "Lana, is Jen-"

"What?"

He leaned in closer. "Is she - loopy? You think she did it? Killed..."

Lana chewed on the insides of her cheeks. She always payed attention to the news, when it actually came through on the old black and white television set that sat in the common room, and she knew Kit did too. There had been multiple stories about the infamous Jennifer Autumn, "Lady Bloody Face", and she'd heard multiple versions of the story. But that's all it was. A story. Whatever she was, she wasn't a killer. "There's no way to identify the body. No possible dental records, DNA samples-"

"The head's gone."

She nodded. "This is a lot like you, Kit. Could be a setup."

"Who would wanna set me up? Or her? What do they have to gain from it, I mean. If I plead insanity - I'm here to rot for the rest of my life or until the state moves me along to Springfield, or somewhere. Point is, I'll be moved along from hellhole to hellhole until I perish. Same fate for her. I've never met the lady in my life and she sure as hell never knew me."

"There has to be some connection, but something's wrong with it - not right about it." Lana agreed, rubbing underneath her chin where the skin had gone tingly from leaning it against her hand for so long.

"Well, you're the reporter, Lana," Kit smirked, washing out his mouth with the last of what was in his cup. "It looks like you need the scoop."

Lana rolled her eyes but couldn't help but smile a little at his banter. "Yeah, I wish." It was that driving nature that got here there in the first place. It was only convenient for Jude to use her "affliction" as an excuse to make her pay for trespassing.

"Grace," Kit reached out and grabbed her arm as she shuffled by the long mess hall table. The woman, looking more frightened and confused than ever, startled and flung her fist around at Kit, who ducked just in time to miss the cup flying for his head. Water from it splattered the front of his t shirt and denim button up, creating splotchy pockmarks on his clothes, but he grabbed her and embraced her until she stopped struggling. Lana scooted her chair out from the table with a screeching noise of the metal legs, helping Kit calm her.

"Grace - Grace, it's me. Lana. And he's Kit." She reassured, holding her face in her hands. She only seemed like a shadow of the girl whom she'd attempted escape with weeks before. The bright, foxiness was gone from her irises; they were now empty and hallow, like she'd been cured out with a spoon. "Don't you remember?"

Grace stopped struggling and Lana took her tray of jumbled food that had run together on the metal, setting it on the table and pulling Grace to sit up beside her.

"Lana?" She whimpered, and Lana noticed that her hands were shaking as if she was injected with adrenaline and caffeine.

"It's me." Lana nodded, tucking back her shaggy caramel hair. She reached for her own cup that wasn't spilled and made her take a drink of water. "You're safe now."

"I am?"

"You are."

She quivered as Kit sat back down, rolling up his damp sleeves to the elbow. "I'm not supposed to tell. If I do -" Grace shifted nervously in her chair, rocking back and forth while intertwining her hands repeatedly, fidgeting with them. She watched the room, corner to corner, as if she was waiting for something, someone.

Kit turned her face toward his. "It's important, Grace." He leaned in closely. "You can tell me."

Suddenly, as if a switch had been turned instantly, she cried out, whining and curling into a ball like a frightened child, pushing Kit's hands away from her face and cowering like a house mouse. Maybe Briarcliff really had broken her.

XXX

Moving aggravated the injuries to her skin, pulling and tugging like stitches still stuck in the body. Every time Jen twitched her toes, she felt the strain of the mutilated skin pull at her tendons, wincing physically in pain. But she wasn't awake enough to whimper or cry out.

Once, when she was ten, Jen broke her wrist while boarding a train to New York with her mother. The pain was something strange - a tingling numb feeling left by the clean snap in the bone. It never healed the same, hence why her palm did not face entirely backwards, almost crookedly, but every time she remembered that break - _snap. _The pain would come back and she'd feel that tingling sensation.

The pain she had in her head now was similar to that of breaking a bone. For a moment she thought her skull may be cracked, but decided against it. If her skull was cracked open, wouldn't she feel blood? Maybe that was the thing with cracked heads. Maybe they didn't bleed.

She suddenly became aware of light shining behind her eyes - a dull pink glow that startled her until she realized that everything was no longer black. Everything was becoming less heavy, she didn't feel so weighted down now. The dim bells on her palms and ankles subsided, slowly lifting away as if they stretched to the sky, and she began to pull herself from the black cloud.

Jen cracked her eyes open like a slit in bamboo blinds, whining internally at the bright lights. In retrospect, it probably wasn't even that bright, but to eyes that might have been closed for a thousand years, it was too shocking. When she dared to open them again, she let her pupils dilate and take in as much light at a time as they could.

The walls were stone, maybe concrete, as she could see with fuzzy vision that went in and out like the focus on a camera. Zoom in, zoom out, zoom in. It was fairly dank and gray, but the bright light turning the backs of her eyelids a flower petal color was turned to full brightness above her; an industrial lamp hung from an arm.

_I can talk. _She reminded herself, struggling to open her mouth. The corners were caked in dried saliva and hurt as she opened her mouth like a baby bird waiting for a worm, or a silent yawn.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Jennifer." She heard the squeak of a cart wheel somewhere behind her and reflexively turned to see where is was coming from. She cried out at the pain it brought her skull, realizing there were screws protruding from it; an entire headpiece that she could see with her peripheral vision, like a sick and twisted metal halo wrapped around her head. She could feel the screws digging into her neck and it seemed much less - modern, more midieval.

A man walked into her line of sight, bringing a cart to a stop at the end of the bed. In a habitually jerky manner, Jen reached for him but her wrist was caught by a restraint lined in cotton. She tried thrashing her legs but they were restrained as well with cold metal links clicked around her ankles.

The man was very tall. Everybody was to her anyway, but he towered like a railing of the coliseum reaching sky high. He wore a pair of small spectacles circling his eyes in tin-colored metal and his hair was gone. She guessed he was probably in his sixties,more if she pushed it, maybe his late fifties. A trim white goatee was shaved perfectly symmetrical on either side of his chin and he held both of his age spotted hands on the handles to a metal cart, which held a selection of instruments half covered by a layer of white cloth.

"Who are you?" Her voice was painfully hoarse and she hated the weak sound of it.

His half smirk was rather cheerful for the situation. "I am Dr. Arthur Arden, the main physician at this institution. I'm in charge." He lifted the sheet off of the half covered tools, revealing the shining sterilized instruments.

"What did you do to me? Where am I?" Her voice broke like a fourteen-year-old boy going through puberty, struggling at the restraints on her wrists. She could feel the screws pushing into her skull from the halo and she fell back, groaning softly. "Let me go." It was weak, illegitimate.

"Questions later." Dr. Arden said calmly, sliding his thick fingers underneath a syringe with a hearty needle. Jen immediately felt faint - last time she was stabbed with needles it was when she was first admitted here so the courts could evaluate her. She was held down by three orderlies while another doctor, not Arden, stabbed her in both arms with what she assumed were vaccinations. There was no warning - only a sharp stab and a yowl of pain, and that was only after she was shoved into an open space completely naked and sprayed with a hose that had incredible water pressure.

"No, please - don't, no!" She cried weakly as the doctor lowered the syringe to her neck.

"Don't fret. This will only hurt for a moment." He promised, and she felt the sharp jab into her jugular, her heart pumping so rapidly that she was sure it was lethal and immediately tried to repent for whatever she might have done in her life to wrong anyone. After a matter of about thirty seconds, her heart felt like it was going to burst open and splatter the walls.

"Just a little dose of anti-arbitrate to reverse the effects of the thiopental." He said casually, moving to the other side of the bed. "And by the way - you mayn't want to move much. You might only get yourself into more of a conundrum."

With that, she immediately stopped struggling. Her neck still throbbed with the memory of the needle, her pulse pounding out of her throat slowly, like instead of blood her heart was trying to pump syrup through her body. Her veins had gone red hot as the venomous substance coursed through her veins, peeling over her insides.

"What is that?"

"Harmless. In that minimal of a dose." The doctor, seeming to be the only one there besides herself, set the hypodermic needle back on the tray of instruments. "It counteracts the formyl-trichloroethane."

"Chloroform?" Her voice broke again, and she realized how thirsty she was. Jen was always a wiz at chemistry and science.

"Very good, Miss Autumn." He states, peeling back the covers from her legs.

"It's Mrs." She was so tired of people calling her "Miss" like a piece of meat. She was a married woman, they'd just taken away her wedding ring, along with all the other personal items she wore, when they hosed her down.

"My apologies." There was the sound of keys jingling but she could not lift her head to view the source. She was suddenly very aware of the weight pressing into her skull, the numb feeling in her forehead.

"Stay away from me." She struggled to bunch her restrained body to one side of the bed, yanking at the cuffs around her wrists as if she believed she could somehow pull her way out of them. "Don't you touch me."

"Easy." He warned in a voice that was meant for a riled up horse, rearing up on its hind legs and snorting wildly. There was a clink, the jingling of metal again, and the metal halo cracked open, freeing her head from the vice. Jen groaned outwardly and wished she could rub her head; she could feel welts left over from the screws on her forehead and hidden in her ratted hair.

"I know my practices may be quite propulsive, but I believe in being - goad I say avant-guard? This is the twentieth century, Jennifer. Advances should be made in the medical universe, don't you agree?"

Jen shifted, squinting her eyes as Dr. Arden moved the work light above her so it was shining even closer to her eyes like a car's headlights. "What are you doing?"

"It would be pragmatic of you to stay still." He informed, and she felt him pin down her leg, pressing his fingers along her femur. "How long have you had rickets?"

She pulled her leg away from him, feeling it catch in the restraint, but she could bend them enough to get away from his greedy hands. "Since I was a toddler." She always walked pigeon toed. It was just the way she was, and at first, people would find her gait strange. She'd grown not to mind.

"Merely a defective mineralization of bones before epiphyseal closure. Nothing more than a postured gait." He added, grabbing her leg again to pull her down further. His examination was fierce and didn't leave anything unnoticed - it was only when he got to her neck that she scrunched up under his hand. Jen hated people to touch her neck. It made her feel weak and unprotected.

"I believe the human race is to be improved." Dr. Arden chided, fixing the position of his spectacles on his severely hooked nose. "Like any type of being - doesn't the world want to expel pollution?"

"Didn't Hitler say the exact same thing?"

Arden chuckled and she could see, in the bouts of work lamp light, that he was wielding a sharp tool that looked like two long-pronged forceps. "Hitler was an idealist. I am a revolutionist. Merely a man who believes in bettering the human populous rather than wiping out the unfortunate. You don't belong here, Mrs. Autumn." His voice was unsympathetic,though his words were. "I can't take pity on you - but I can take pity on your mind."

She cocked her head, lifting it up as far as she could without straining her abdomen. The bright light above her was still as white and blinding, especially when he flipped another switch to turn every bulb to full, white brightness. She squinted, feeling so much like one of the frogs she dissected in high school.

"I've been in contact with many minds, Mrs. Autumn," The doctor, sliding a cotton medical slip over his bald head. Wrangling a leather apparatus with thin snaps, he pulled it over her face so her head was restrained to the bed. She could feel a lump in her tipped back throat, her lip beginning to quiver. "I've been waiting to get ahold of yours. Here lies the mystification." He tapped her forehead lightly, smoothing a finger along her temple. "The real darkness."

Jen blinked rapidly as he secured miniature forceps to her eyelids to force them open. "Why are you doing this?"

"Portfolio." He said simply, placing both palms on her legs. His face became stern as he stopped at the foot of the bed. "Bend your knees."

The color drained from her face, she was suddenly horrified. "No." It was weakened, frail and scratchy.

"Bend your knees." He demanded again. "Before I bend them for you."

Jen had never been under the prospect of anything as heavy as rape - the assault and violation of her otherwise untouched body. Tears stung her eyes. She was too ashamed to roll them up to her captor as she raised her knees up, keeping her legs as closed as the restraints would allow. She could not drag her ankles any closer than a quarter of the length in towards the mattress, but she could touch her knees together.

Her lip quivered and her knees shook at his expression that suggested he wanted her to do something more now. "Open your legs."

A sob escaped her lisps. "Please..."

"I am a professional, and I assure you - I'm against torturous medical procedures, Mrs. Autumn." There was a slight pause. "You're twenty-six?"

So, now he was making small talk. She nodded, assuming he had plenty of access to her records. There wasn't much to see, as for her history. She lived in Massachusetts all of her life and she only left once - a trip to Michigan when she was twelve. She was an indigenous species, in that sense. Her birthday was November twenty-ninth, not that it mattered to anyone here that she would turn twenty-seven

in six days.

"You haven't had children." He said, voice ringing out as if the room was a mole's hidey-hole dug into the earth.

"No." She whimpered, closing her legs as tight as the restraints possibly let her.

"I see." With rough palms, his hands clasped her quivering knee caps, forcing her legs open. "Open your legs."

"No." Jen whimpered, desperately clinging to her innocence.

His thick fingers grasped her trembling thighs, forcing them apart as she screamed hoarsely, willing to do anything, make any sound, just as long as he wouldn't touch her -

"Keep still." He had a shocking calm demeanor, though still demanding. "Don't force me to use other means to keep you from moving. Neither of us want that. It would interfere with my readings; the experiments I conduct are anything but regulatory."

She continued to scream, feeling her lungs tremble in her chest as whatever Dr. Arden injected into her neck seared through her coarse veins.

"Very well." He grunted, picking up the all but forgotten forceps that had been set on the cart minutes before. Her cries turned to desiccated whines of pain as he thrust her legs open with coarse palms, snaking one underneath the pale gown she must have been dressed in after she was snuffed out like a candle wick. Squealing as his hand snaked under, she squirmed underneath the patriarchal man who grabbed her plain white underwear that were issued to her by Briarcliff.

He dragged the undergarment down until it was caught against the cuff that restrained her leg to the mattress, leaving them limply hanging, and forced her legs apart with cold fingers. Her screaming subsided suddenly as she felt the coldness between her legs - the forceps keeping her open, shoved between her into her most intimate area and cranked like a car jack until she had not more noise to make.

She did find one though, a small "oh!" That was a whimper of shock as the doctor stepped back, checking his handiwork to make sure it was decent. Jen bit her lip to keep from crying out in horror again, feeling tears brimming in her forced-open eyes.

"Now," the doctor paused, lifting a large hypodermic needle from the tray, leaning between her forced-open legs. "We can begin."

**Fact: The name Lana means "afloat; calm as still waters." She tries to remain calm in any situation, even if it's difficult. **

**Wendy means "friend". She is very friendly and shy, but ironically, not just Lana's "friend" **

**Jennifer means "fair and smooth". She sees the straight way out of a situation and believes strongly in justice **

**Fact: Wendy is a wild impulse buyer. She has impulse bought many things in she and Lana's home including the Kit Cat Clock, New York poster hanging in the hallway, rubber duckie soap, the beads hanging in the doorframe of the kitchen, and a set of fancy marmalade spoons that are never used. **

**Fact: The song Elliot and Jen fell in love to was I Love How You Love Me, by Bobby Vinton **


	7. Just As Twisted

**Hello! I know I don't usually leave notes, but I thought you should know a few things! **

**I have posted the soundtrack listing on my profiles finally! You can take a look at that if you are interested. :) **

**Also, thank you to the lovely guests that have reviewed! I appreciate it, and you're awesomer than anything I can think of right now! **

**I hope you enjoy! **

Chapter Seven

"Are we there yet?"

Dustie reached through the brush, pushing away a few low-hanging brambles that caught in the needles of a gnarled grandfather pine. The woods were tangled like a clump of yarn soup, so thick and full of mosquitos because of the moist atmosphere that created the perfect breeding ground for them. A lonesome traveler may have trekked through the woods within the last five years, but he hadn't left a path.

"It must be right through here." She could hear Dean and David crackling through the brush behind her but she didn't look to see if they were coming. If they were going to wuss out, that wasn't her problem.

"Jesus, these woods are thick." Dean swore heavily behind her, pulling his sneaker out of a sink hole that caught his boot, scattering dust and dead pine needles when he pulled it out from the trap. "How the hell's idea was this?"

"Stop complaining and-" Dustie screeched quietly and _oomphed _as she bumped heads with a clanking booze bottle strung from a crackling weeping willow tree that hung so low to the ground that ghostly wind chimes nearly brushed the crab grass where the branches were weighted down. A doll missing its eyes swung in the summer wind, hallow soul screaming as it rocked back and forth as if it were cradled in a demented version of _Rockabye Baby. _

"Holy shit." David smirked, brushing his stubby finger nails against the dress of the hanged porcelain doll. The skin may have once been a creamy, taut alabaster, but it had turned a greenish gray color, most likely from rain wear and years of the sun baking the glass into chunks. "Freaky."

"We must be getting close." Dean brushed his dusty hands on his tattered jeans pockets, picking brambles and burs out of his shaggy shoulder-length hair. "You got the camera?"

Dustie, who was already trudging forward, leaving the two males behind, held up the bag containing the camera. It was a Polaroid that developed the pictures after the snap. She was that artsy type, still trying to convince her family to convert her brother's old baby nursery into a darkroom for developing her pictures. "Come on, boys, I wanna make it there before I turn old."

She could hear them both trotting after her, pushing through the trees she hadn't bothered to clear for them. The bracelets jingling on her wrists and ankles gave them a clear path to follow, even if she was out of sight. They could just follow the noise of her bengals. There was a rusted chain link fence surrounding what wasn't blocked off by woods of the property, and she ducked underneath, crawling under until she popped out on the other side of the brambles into a pit of gravel.

"Whoa." A grin spread across her face as she entered the clearing, weed-ridden gravel crunching under her sneakers. Indigenous species of dandelions had long since taken over the courtyard, but with an imagination like hers, it was easy to see what it might have looked like fifty years ago. "Dean, look."

"I'm comin'." Dustie's loyal boyfriend was worse for wear after getting whacked in the face by all of the overgrown hedges and birch trees in the mess of what one might call a forest; he was hot, sweaty, and covered in mosquito bites. David trotted behind Dustie, his Nikes stirring up dust from the overturned gravel as Dean huffed and puffed, calves screaming in pain, to lean against Dustie. She was much taller than him, part of what attracted him to her in the first place.

Dustie had never seen Briarcliff Manor in person before. She never expected it to look so - sinister. Within those crumbling walls were an insidious darkness that she'd only ever been able to paint. Inside, there were stories - just what she was looking for. Outside was graffitied in various forms of bright and fading spray paint, patterns of unreadable bubble letters and crosses.

"Rut-Ro, Raggy!" David pinched Dean's behind, causing him to jump while they viewed the disintegrating snake pit. "Want a Scooby Snack?"

"Shut up, asshole." Dustie muttered, debating whether or not it was a good idea to bring him along in the first place. He was her neighbor, the most irritating little prick she'd ever met, but every now and then she felt bad for him. His dad was always whaling him and he'd do anything to get out of his warpath. Even if he was an imp, no one deserved that.

"Isn't it beautiful?" Dustie leaned her head back after a moment of nothing but the sounds of creatures calling to each other in the deepest woods aproning the decaying institution, the sound of silence. Briarcliff might have once been interesting; the architecture was very early-1900's. Built in 1908, it served the purpose of a TB ward. One of the largest on the East Coast, to be exact.

"How long's it been sitting here?" Dean stretched his arms behind his back, rubbing his fingers in his long, sweaty hair. He couldn't help but notice how lonely it looked, abandoned like that.m

"It was an asylum housing the _insane." _Dustie giggled, imaging what kind of crazies the state could have kept behind those walls. It sent chills up and down her spine to think about what she might find inside. That's right, they were going _inside. _"It was abandoned in '71, I think."

"How come, did they cure everybody?" David scratched the back of his neck, peering through the barred windows in the upper stories. Looking for ghostly faces.

"No, idiot." Dean muttered, figuring someone had to say it. "It was shut down."

"Why?"

Dustie had been scrolling through her phone, flipping past pictures of the asylum standing right before them - it seemed so surreal to be in its presence. It was just so... Big, haunted, perfect. "Apparently they just went out of business or something. More orthodox methods were coming about in the 60's. Not much need for the Catholic church to intervene with medicine. They weren't really related anymore, two entirely different topics."

"You're so creepy." David muttered, turning around to kick a stone in the direction towards the backwoods surrounding the property. "No one's been here in years."

Dustie ignored him and continued to read from the article on her cracked phone screen. "Briarcliff Manor institution for the insane housed one of Massachusetts's and the United States's most famous serial killers - a killer the media nicknamed "BloodyFace", who began a reign of terror in the mid-1960's. Apparently he was kept here."

"Apparently?"

Dustie turned back to Dean, showing him her phone. He shaded his eyes with his hand like a visor so he could block the sun. Displayed was a picture of a young woman, slightly blurry, but he could make out high cheekbones, chestnut hair, and a happy-go-lucky unconventional look.

"That's BloodyFace? It was a chick?" He took the phone and read the tiny words. God, they were so small. He really should wear his glasses, but they'd been broken for months.

Dustie waved her hand. "Keep reading."

_... Common BloodyFace suspect, convicted in 1964 as the lady accomplice to the original masked killer. Counterclaims were made in 1970 by... _

"Here, I can't read this shit. The sun's too bright." Dean shoved it back at her, staring back at the hulking asylums something about it made his girlfriend squirm in ecstasy, but it only made his intestines turn. He was uncomfortable. He hated to as it that it was the place making him that way, but - it made his head spin even to read about it.

"Babe, hold my bag." Dustie shoved the camera case into Dean's arms as he was pulling the to shirt material away from his damp chest. The film had been loaded into her camera ever since they left the house and she snapped a photo of the materializing building. David was wandering back towards the couple with his hands deep in his pockets. She pulled the developing picture out of the chute, shaking it so it would appear faster. "Let's go inside."

Dustie was to the main doors before the boys, as eager as ever to get inside as soon as possible. It was disappointing to see that a rusty chain wound around the handles, but with a few persistent tugs, the ancient links came free and tumbled onto the platform. Wooden planks that were nothing more but kindling now came free easily and she forced her way inside.

"Shit, it's hot in here." David complained pushing his bleach-blond hair off his forehead as he collided with Dean, who was already on edge just from entering the building.

"Fucking watch it." He snapped, possessed by some fearful demon he didn't like,e to talk about. He hated Briarcliff before he even saw it.

Dustie wandered in what must have been the foyer, gawking at a wild, spiraling staircase. The wrungs were cloaked in eaten-away plastics that might have been tarps draped over long ago to protect the cause for dust, but that had all but been thrown away. It was filthy, garbage all around, boarded up windows and broken legs to chairs strewn about. A pile of rotted clothes, woolen sweaters and moldy denim rotted against an equally mildew-y backboard that must have been thrown in there before she was born. Sheets hung from the ceiling, ghostly waves of graying white left to hang.

The flash on her Polaroid snapped and she pulled out the picture, waiting for it to develop. She shook it out while listening to the walls that seemed to whisper.

_Over_ _f__orty-six thousand people died here. _It really was haunted. _They shuttled the bodies through an underground tunnel called "The Death Chute". _

"Legend has it," called David, strutting through the wreckage while reading off his phone to Dustie, who was shoving the developed picture of the balcony stairs into her bag. "That if you were committed to Briarcliff, you never got out."

"Freaky." She grinned, lifting herself up onto the creaking stairs. "Come on, let's to explore. I want some more pictures." With a flip of red hair, she was wheeling up the stairs loudly with black boots thumping against stairs that were questionable to her weight. She didn't care if Dean and David followed her - she was going to do what she came here to do.

"Dude," David grinned, sifting through the debris, wiping away straw, dust, and grass from a half-crumpled photograph that was buried. It revealed a black-and-white woman wearing nothing but a sheet, smoking a joint in one hand, the other curled seductively around shapely lips. Her eyes were full of obvious lust for the photographer. "Found me a lady."

"Sick." Dean grabbed for it, squinting. She appeared to be brunette, streaks of brown left on the sullied surface, but she was easily beautiful in any day and age.

"Man, that's some lame porn." David peered over the other boy's shoulder to get a better look. "The 60's were all about teasing."

Dean flipped over the photograph, finding nothing written on the grimy surface but a cursive _L. _

David stole it back, pocketing it after folding the photo in half. "Think I'll call her Lacy. Since, the _L _and everything."

"Keep Racy Lacy to yourself."

Dustie yanked open the door beside a crumpled metal plaque reading "Women's Ward", kicking it aside in the process. She thought about calling "Ohh, BloodyFace!" but just the thought gave her the shivers. The place was haunted, a creepy atmosphere that made her heart flutter just the way she wanted. Bird nests rested in the windowpanes of some of the broken windows and she snapped a few shots, replacing the film afterward because it had already run out. The picture developed to show light streaming in a hall of windows scrolling down the eerie corridor, screaming silently. This place was full of good haunts.

The only light was the small amount of dimming ray coming in through the windows of the setting sun, so she clicked on her pen light, viewing the graffiti done on the musty stone walls. A face that looked kind of like a scarecrow with a stitched mouth, reading "BLOODYFACE". She smirked. This place was so cool. It was in ruins, but she could imagine what kind of things went on behind closed and locked doors.

She entered a room which had the frame and cotton mattress of what looked like a tipped-back bed or a table used in an alien abduction. There was something midieval about it , and Dustie could feel the energy coarse through her body when she traced her fingers across the cool, metal surface. A large box with rusted dials and turns marked 0 to 100 sat heavily against a sagging desk and her heart pumped as she switched the dials. Of course, nothing happened. There hadn't been electricity here for years.

"Dust?" Dean called down the hall, and she shine the light of her flashlight into the hallway so he could find her. His footsteps trodded down the concrete hall and he entered the room, followed by a David who was admiring a slip of paper.

"Jesus Christ, go masturbate somewhere else to that chick if it means you're out of the way." Dean growled, shoving the other boy out of the way.

"She speaks to me!"

Dean rolled his eyes and slipped his arm around Dustie's waist as David wandered into the hallway. "You can't go running off like that without warning."

"I'm a big girl, baby." She leaned down to press her lips to his forehead, snaking away from him. "It isn't like BloodyFace is gonna ax me up. Besides, let's go find the death chute. I wanna see it."

"It's getting dark."

Great, he was already chickening out on her. They weren't even there twenty minutes and he was already coming up with some excuse. She had to convince him somehow.

"Night is when BloodyFace comes out to play." She lowered him against the structure of the tipped bed, lifting one leg over his waist. "I'm staying."

"You honestly can't believe in all that media junk. The 60's was a tabloid decade."

Dustie trailed kisses on his flush neck, pecking down to his belly button. He smelled like sweat and the weed they smoked earlier and she let her tongue trail over his throbbing heartbeat. "I wanna see the death chute. You know what might be fun in the death chute?"

He was tangling his thin fingers into her messy red hair. "Huh?"

"We should do it in there." She grinned against his skin, pressing her palms into his pecks. "Chain David up somewhere in a strait jacket. Bet no one can hear us down there - I want you to make me scream, Dean. How cool would it be if you could make me scream in a real life insane asylum?"

She felt his Adam's Apple go down beneath her lips. "How?"

She forced him on top of her and rubbed the back of his neck, guiding his hands to her inner thighs. "You'll only know when we get there."

"Christ, I love you."

"Show me." She winked, snaking out from underneath him. "Take me to the death chute."

Dean lurched up from the exam table, grabbing her around the waist before she could scamper off into the bowls of the nuthouse without him, leaving on,y the sound of jingling ankle bracelets as a clue to where he could find her. "Wait, what about David?"

Dustie had already snorted before he could finish the sentence. "Leave the piece of shit up here." Her arms draped loosely around his neck, pressing feverish lips to his forehead and tangling her fingers into his messy long hair. Her forehead rested against his, almost a full head taller, but she didn't mind - she was tall, anyway. A freak, but maybe that was why she enjoyed the feeling of a place meant for them. "I only wanna be with you."

She could feel the tension is his fingertips on her bony hips, moving slowly up and down in a silent plea. She grinned and giggled against his forehead, wheeling away and shining her uber bright pen light in his face. "Come on, let's find it."

She clambered down the hallway scattered in debris, leaping deftly over piles of cardboard and scattered pieces of crushed cinder blocks.

"Whoa, look at this." Dean pulled his eager lover to a stop in front of the entrance of a room cloaked in the last rays of sunshine beaming through the windows. Dustie shined the light into the room, shocked at the stained porcelain baths covered in russet stains from years of dripping rust water.

"I wonder what that was used for."

"Bath therapy." Dean slipped his hand up the back of Dustie's tank top, snaking his fingers onto the small of her back.

Dustie lifted the camera from the strap around her neck, illuminating the entire room with the flash before she traipsed back down the hall,towards the spiral staircase. "Come on, I bet it's this way."

Dean followed her down the stairs, once more into what might have been the foyer many years ago. For someone like Dean, it was difficult to imagine what it once looked like, but Dustie saw spiraling images of haunted screams, cigarette smoke. The artistic view. Dean didn't have a creative bone in his body, but he was edgy. She was attracted to that.

"Look," Dustie grinned, yanking open a jammed door, kicking a few scraps of drywall and plywood out of the way. A dark hallway, beguiling and eerie as it was, somehow thrilled her to an extent of ecstasy, and she wanted so much to feel the souls around her. Dean wanted her sex, and of course, she'd give it to him as promised, but sex with spirits watching would be much more wicked.

Dean gulped, staring into the pit that was as discouraging as a trench they were about to sink into. "Death chute it is, then."

XXX

The convertible rumbled past the closing gates to Briarcliff, stirring up dust from the shiny white gravel that created the illusion of cleanliness and tranquility to the facility. The sun was shining, but there was no light whatsoever. Black wheels spun on the loose stones, pulling into the circle drive and parking in front of the elegant stone steps.

Wendy exited the car, feeling the ground underneath her small high heels before she slammed the car door gently. The sun was meandering behind a few puffy gray clouds and she was debating putting up the top to the car in case it rained, but a woman dressed in a habit and snug black dress was clicking down the steps in a pair of Mary Janes.

"Miss Peyser?" She called questioningly, peering at the aqua colored Chevrolet that she was standing in front of. It had been Lana's choice of color, which Wendy hadn't complained about. It was never hard to find in a parking lot.

"That's me." Wendy hated how shy she was, she always had, but no matter how much she tried to be forward and outgoing like Lana was, she never could. The only place she seemed to be less of an introvert was when she was in the presence of children.

The nun was blonde, from what she could tell. Most of her hair was covered by a habit aside from very flaxen bangs cut over her eyebrows and framed around her ears. The rosary she wore was made of mahogany and birch beads, hung from the back of the covering for her hair, and boldly placed across her chest. The slight smile she wore was genuine but she looked so minuscule in the three-arched doorway at the front of the building.

"I saw you pull up from the window." Her voice was slightly coarse, though at the same time even and smooth like the diluted sounds through an old time speaker. "You have quite the lovely vehicle, Miss. It's like a little matchbox car."

Wendy smoothed her palms over her blouse, shivering as the chilly October wind ruffled the edges of her mauve jacket. "Thank you." There was a pause while she sucked on the insides of her cheeks, watching a creature - human looking - hobble back and forth between two trees, laughing. The nun seemed to notice.

"Don't mind her, Miss. She won't harm you."

"Oh, no, I didn't - does she..."

"She's been in our care for quite some time now, Miss Peyser. The doctors call it low-cortical these days," she was striding back up the wide, industrially concrete steps, fiddling with her rosary nervously. She held a basket over her forearm that, from what Wendy could tell, was filled with wildflowers. "But here, we still call her microcephalic."

Wendy ground her jaw. They locked her away simply because she was deformed? Nobody deserved to be shuttled into a corner just because they deviated from the norm. Wendy of all people knew, working with children all day. Even regarding who she was as a person, "Is she harmless?"

She chuckled slightly, her eyes bright and a shocking blue. "She's a baby murderer, Miss Peyser - she drowned her sister's infant. We have to let her run around outside every now and then, or else she gets restless." It was so matter-of-fact that is shocked Wendy. She stared up at the entrance to the asylum - _oh God, _the place where she put _Lana. _She felt her stomach tighten at the thought of her being inside, all alone. The reason she was here. Her Lana, the woman she'd locked up in such a place. Her heart fluttered guiltily. But that was why she was here. She wouldn't be leaving this place without her.

"This way, Miss." She smiled lightly as if Wendy was ignorant to the mentally ill, opening the door for her. She held her breath while crossing the threshold, awaiting to follow someone who knew their way around. The immediate impression was shock. Another woman, dressed in nun attire, habit and all, dragged a man with greasy, shaggy hair along as he banged his temples into his fists. Haunted howls, some of them possibly in pain, ghosted off the walls. The smell of the desolate foyer was hard to describe - something like wet blankets and mildew, sawdust, a rusty pungent scent. Already, the place reeked of darkness that only the insane could stand.

"Are you the one I spoke to on the phone?" Wendy avoided a woman stumbling towards her with significant sores on her mouth, scars lining her lips like a scarecrow with stitched lips.

"Monica!" Another prioress grabbed the woman's arm, revealing bloody cuts up and down the sagging skin, wrinkled in soiled bandages. Wendy squealed and held up her arms over her face to protect herself as yellowed nails snatched at her. The blonde nun pulled her along as if nothing had happened, guiding her to a gigantic spiral staircase made of cast iron whilst Wendy's heart pumped furiously.

"Yes." Her eyes became nervous as she continued climbing, looking back as if to make sure Wendy was following. "Our arrangements were made prior to my speaking with Sister Jude, so I -" she paused again, stopping to lean against the railing. She was a thin woman with a frail face and wide set cheekbones that reminded Wendy of sugarplums. The conventional type of beauty. "Just follow me." Was her nervous quirk, and Wendy began the ascent again, following closely behind.

"Sister Jude," she called upon entering the office door, followed by Wendy who awkwardly trailed in through the same entrance, pulling at her coat. It was cold enough inside to keep it on. "The woman I spoke to you a just is here to meet with you-"

"What did I just tell you about knocking? Sister Mary Eunice," The woman barked accordingly, looking up from her desk. "And that - woman, what did I tell you about _her?" _

"Please, Sister." Wendy hurried, cutting in before the trembling lips of Sister Mary Eunice could slip out a single word. "Just listen to me, if nothing else. I've made a terrible mistake."

_A terrible, damn-worthy mistake. _She didn't even know if Lana could forgive her. For the past three days, Wendy had been struggling to get ahold of Briarcliff. Even during school, every chance she had, she was calling. It was hours after her last desperate plea that it was returned by a frantic Sister Mary Eunice, agreeing to exchange a meeting for the promise that she would not be revealed as the conduit of conversation to Sister Terrible.

"Mistake." Sister Jude's mouth was humorous, the pinched corners pulling up in a smirk. "You made no mistake, young woman."

"Please let me recant. I swear, I was wrong." She begged, wringing her hands in front of her coat, unbuttoning it to reveal her blue blouse, smoothing her hands over the buttons as she realized the way the nun watched her. Like she was judging her just with her eyes. It was impressive how she could see right through Wendy - proof was all but out the window. She didn't need it. She'd guilt Wendy into anything she wanted, force her into the truth. The truth that wasn't so ugly to her but continued to shock society time and time again.

"Sister Mary Eunice, go attend to the bakery. Sister Mae can't be down there for a half hour on her own without getting fingers stuck in the slicer." Sister Jude waved her off and rose from her desk. Sister Mary Eunice remained stagnant, her lip quivering unattractively. "Are you just going to stand there? Christ's sake, child. Do as I told you before I -" Sister Jude collected herself in Wendy's presence, smoothing over her dress. "Go, now."

Wendy was nearly certain she was crying as soon as she stepped over the threshold. She was an innocent, blond little girl. It wasn't hard to assume that she was afraid of Sister Jude. And there she was, left in the belly of the beast with nothing more to defend herself and her girlfriend with other than morality. And Sister Jude wasn't about to hear a lecture on morals from a dyke.

"Young woman, you try me like The Lord. Marching into my office like a saint," she paused. "Don't you have school, Miss Peyser? Young minds to enrich?"

Wendy smoothed her khaki skirt down, standing stiffly in her heels. They were killing her and they weren't even hers - they were Lana's, and she barely ever wore heels. But she wouldn't look small. Even if she was, both physically and mentally, the heels were just for confidence. "I called in a substitute. This is much more important to me."

She smirked, starting towards the door. "Are you here to suck an egg into a milk jug with a match, or can I escort you out?"

"Wait!" She cried, scampering in front of the door as if she could keep her from leaving. "Sister Mary Eunice said -"

"That scatter-brained girl? She doesn't have the authority to promise you anything."

"Please, I made a mistake. I didn't mean to sign the papers, I was -"

"Afraid." She hissed, striding closer to the trembling-on-the-inside schoolteacher. "Of exposure to the outside world. I can attempt to understand your notions, miss Peyser, but your sullying of society is unacceptable in a place of God. I don't accept conversation with you and have no desire to release Miss Winters-"

"Desire, Sister? I'm the one who signed the papers, according to the court system, I can annul my-"

Sister Jude was rummaging in her desk, removing a file folder, a fresh Manila envelope that was free of creases and bends in the paper-like fabric. Lana's picture was paper clipped to the outside corner; a mug shot, as it appeared. Lana's frightened eyes stared back at her from the table, a bruise on her forehead and a split lip in the process of early healing.

_"So, you said she was hurt?" _

_"Trespassing."_

Wendy gulped, swallowing her guilt and tears. Lana was here, her _baby. _The only baby she ever had, and god damn it, she wouldn't take no for an answer. She would be like Lana is she had to to get her way.

"What is this, Miss Peyser?" Sister Jude called rhetorically, slapping the file on the desk again loudly for emphasis. Wendy bit her lower lip and didn't answer. The nun opened the file, Lana's picture fluttering away from the paper clip clasp, centimeters away from slipping from the table surface and colliding with the floor. Wendy stared as she produced a familiar document, handing it over to her outstretched hand.

**Trial court of Massachusetts district court department, at chambers. In the matter of****: ****Lana ****W****inters****. Petition for commitment**** - **

"Is that your signature at the bottom, Miss Peyser?"

Wendy already knew the monster lurking at the bottom of the page,but she scrolled her eyes down anyway, knowing she had to face it. _Wendy E. Peyser. _It jumped out at her in black ink, she remembered the distinct click of the pen as it was handed over to her. She hated herself every second since it happened. But Sister Jude was right. She _was _afraid. Whatever was most important to her in that moment wasn't Lana and she guilted herself every milli-moment she received.

"It is, Sister. But... I'm telling you, I - got scared and pressed the panic button. Do what you want with me, but - Lana's so undeserving." She loved the way that name rolled off her tongue, like she was singing a lullaby, brushing her lips against soft satin, but the woman before her didn't seem to agree with the tone. "Let her out of this place. For her sake, she doesn't deserve this."

"I know exactly the kind of person you are." She jabbed her finger at Wendy's chest as she started to feel moisture forming in the corners of her cocoa eyes. Her heart was pumping exotically. "A woman who hides behind her own lies to escape the truth, telling herself that 'it was just a bitty mistake, Sister, I promise'. Well, I can tell you one thing, young woman." She paused, grabbing ahold of Wendy's collar and holding her body forcefully against the wall. "You and your "friend" have been breaking the laws of nature for Lord knows how long. In my opinion," she paused, gently tucking a stray chocolate curl out of Wendy's matching eyes. She whimpered pitifully. _Lana_, _oh Lana. Look what I've done. Look what I've done to us. _"She should pay for every crooked, erring thing that went on in that love nest. Like two chimps rubbing their damn bottoms. You're no better, and neither is she. You flounce around in your heels, your little dresses and skirts, screaming to the world - _believe me, _but I don't for a second." She whispered. "Because, you know what I think, Miss Peyser? You're just as twisted... Bent, braided, wrenched around her little reporter finger like nobody's business."

A tear streaked down Wendy's cheek, then another as a Sister Jude released her from a powerful, devilish grip. "You are the corrupt one. And I can't make you repent for your sins, but I can wallow in your guilty conscience." She spat verbally as Wendy wiped her nose, trying to keep herself together. Sister Jude swooped down to retrieve Lana's identification photograph that finally had fluttered to the floor, shaking it at her. "It will be enough of a punishment for you to watch her excel in heterosexuality while you continue to strike the gallows, _Wendy." _Her voice was sing-songish, like a small child.

"_Please, _Sister Jude." She begged. "Expose me, advertise me to the world for what I am. Don't chastise Lana."

"I'd be surprised if your Lana ever wanted to see you again." Sister Jude's fingers trailed over the document, flaunting Wendy's elegant signature. "Especially after what you've done to her."

Wendy sobbed. "You blackmailed me! She knows that. Lana knows that."

"Oh?" She chuckled. "You teachers are all the same, aren't you? Inhaling those paste and Crayola fumes all day must get to your head. So childish. It's as if you don't understand anything that a child doesn't understand. Enriching the young minds of the world is a sacred charge, Wendy. The most important thing in the world to you, I see."

_Lana is the most important thing in the world. _

"I'll take you to court. I won't leave this place again without her."

"The court? The court that viewed _your _signed document?"

Wendy, backed into a hypothetical corner, rubbed her eyes before any more tears could come.

_"I just hate myself." _

_"Nothing makes sense without her." _

_"Anything I do in my life, I can do because you love me." _

Sister Jude didn't have a chance to take another breath before there was a heavy knock at the door three times. "Thank God, someone who knocks." The nun muttered, striding to the door to pull it open. Haunted screams filled the room for a few seconds as a man entered the room. He was formal, dressed in a suit with a white dress shirt and thin black tie that matched the rims of his brow line spectacles.

"I'm sorry to interrupt." He reeled, though there was a subtle sarcasm that leaked into his tone. "I didn't know you had an appointment."

"I didn't." She rolled her eyes at Wendy, who was holding her fingers over her lips to keep another sob from escaping. The man who had entered kept looking at her and back to Sister Jude, switching evenly between the two. "Is there something you'd like, _doctor?" _

He huffed lightly, something that sounded to Wendy almost like a chuckle. "I came to speak to you on a more - private matter, but I see that you have company. I'll leave you to your business."

"No. In fact, you might make yourself useful by escorting Miss Peyser off the premises."

"Please, Sister Jude -" Wendy cried one last plea, but that battle was dead and done with. Her goose was cooked, at least for now. Lana's was smoldering in the oven like a casserole someone left in for hours too long. It wouldn't be long before they were both smoking piles of black nothing.

"Miss Peyser?" The man started, offering her an arm.

"Young woman, you have five minutes to be off the property of Briarcliff Manor, and if I see you you here again without authentification, I'll report you to the proper authorities. Dr. Thredson, this woman is a social menace, the degenerate offspring of the generic gene pool. Escort her off the property before I have to threaten her sorry ass one more time."

Wendy sobbed into her palm, wishing more than anything that she could just _see Lana. _She'd spoken to Sister Mary Eunice over the telephone yesterday when she arranged what Sister Jude might call a "surprise attack", and she specifically entailed that under certain specifications, that Wendy was not allowed to meet with Lana in any way. It would "interfere with her treatment". Of course, Wendy thought she might have walked out with Lana at her side, but obviously, that wasn't going to happen today.

The man, Dr. Thredson, placed a hand on her forearm gently, the warmness from his palm seeping in through the warmth of her coat. But Wendy felt so lost without her. This was all her fault, and she loathed herself. "Miss Peyser, I'll take you to your vehicle now."

His voice sounded distant, as if he was shouting it through a tunnel. She felt wobbly, tipping in Lana's high heels. She suddenly didn't feel like she could walk in them anymore, her brisk step all but gone. She was broken now. Broken until she could fix what went wrong.

"And keep her out." The nun ordered as Dr. Thredson shut the door quietly behind him without so much as a click from the handle. She followed him down the spiraling corridor, feeling the walls of the asylum closing in around her. The ghostly screams, the woman with sagging skin and bloody arms tossing stuffing from a torn-open pillow all over the floor while two orderlies tried to manage her. It was too much, too much to know that her Lana was _living _here.

She stopped in her tracks and pressed the heels of her hands to her temples, hysteria creeping in as she slumped against the wall, her legs crunched up underneath her worthless body. Fingers shaking, she tried to cover her ears, blocking out the haunted noises. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry." She sobbed, wailing a pathetic apology.

_You're pathetic, Wendy. _She told herself, entire face wet now from smeared tears. _Useless, petty, interminable, nauseating - _

"... Miss Peyser?"

Wendy then realized that he was kneeling beside her, his palm resting gently against her forearm. Reality spun back to her as slowly as it had left, leaving her reeling, realizing that her cheeks were wet. She wiped at them with embarrassment. She hated to look so much like a child. Especially in front of a man, one she didn't know, of all people. Yesterday, she was caught by one of her colleagues, whimpering in the teacher's lounge, gripping the windowsill as a cigarette smoldered in between her fingers.

"Are you... Alright?" Dr. Thredson took a few measured moments before speaking to her again, and she brushed her palms off, getting to her feet.

"I'm fine. Thanks." She nodded as he offered her a handkerchief, using it to wipe underneath her eyes before handing it back to him. He folded it gently and carefully, seeming to study the tear-stained splotches on the fabric before sticking it back in his suit pocket. "Really. Thank you, Doctor. I can find my way back to the door, I think. I should get back to work while I still can."

The doctor leaned down to retrieve her purse from the floor, handing it back to her as if he was approaching a stray dog. She took it gratefully but slung it over her arm with half a heart. "You are a school teacher?"

"I teach the third grade." She sniffed, listening to muffled yells down the spiraling staircase.

"Alcott Elementary?"

"Yes. Do you have children there?" She hadn't heard the name Thredson yet. Maybe his children were young.

"Oh, no. I've heard nice things about the school, though." They were striding back down the stairs now. Lana's heels were a lost cause now. All they did was hurt her feet. In fact, they were the ones that always gave Lana's feet blisters. "Don't cry, Miss Peyser."

Wendy rubbed her chin, feeling her lip start to quiver again. He wouldn't possibly understand, he couldn't. Wendy hated herself for what she'd done to her lover just days ago. Hell knew what kind of torture she might have gone through in that small amount of time. This place wasn't right.

"I'm sorry."

He turned in the doorway, facing her and placing his hands on the sides of her shoulders. His touch was strange. Abnormal to her, rougher hands and a firmer grip. His eyes rolled over to the nun striding towards the foyer carrying a metal tray full of Dixie cups containing overflowing pills and powdery drugs. His words were slow, very deliberate and loud so she would hear. "I'll escort you out to your car now, Miss Peyser." Then opened the door for her, nodding once curtly before shutting it after himself and hopping down the steps.

"Sorry, it's hard to talk inside. Too - stuffy." He straightened his tie, offering Wendy his hand down the steps. She obliged but with great awkwardness, allowing him to walk beside her as she strode to her convertible. Luckily, it hadn't rained while she was inside to ruin the interior, though it looked like it would any minute. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine."

"Shaken, indeed." He observed her shivering in the October air, pulling her coat tightly around her small body. "You're here to see Miss Winters, aren't you?"

Wendy looked up slowly, taking the time to study his face. It somehow seemed generous, very solemn yet also calm and handsome. "How did you know?"

"I don't work here." He said nonchalantly, stretching his arms behind his back. "Of course, my employment for the time being here is disclosed, but your... friend, she's in good hands as long as I'm here."

"You know Lana? Are you her doctor?"

"I'm not her doctor, but I see no harm in - looking after her. Until she can return home."

"Dr. Thredson, I -" Wendy could feel the tears coming in again and she cushioned her eyes with her palms, gasping quietly. "She came to my house, Sister Jude. Threatening me, forcing me -" she bit her lip. "I need to recant, but - she has that paperwork, my signature."

"You take care of your business, Miss Peyser. You don't need any more stress, what with twenty some children to look after on weekdays. Lana is under my specifications now, as long as I'm here. She deserves to be here less than I do, I'm afraid. Wrongly accused of alienated acts of," he paused and tugged at his collar. "Sexual nature. I'll help her."

"Thank you. _Thank you." _Wendy surely couldn't stress it enough. The doctor seemed, for lack of a more descriptive word, nice. Trustworthy, a decent type of man. Probably the kind her family would want her to marry, but she never was a fond judge of men.

"It's my job to take care of patients, Miss Peyser." His smile was genuine, though clumsy. She somehow trusted him. "If you need to contact me - hold on a second," Dr. Thredson rummaged in his pocket, surfacing with a half crumpled piece of scrap paper, retrieving a pen from the pocket of his suit coat. "May I?" Wendy moved aside so he could use the hood of the car as a table, scribbling an address on the slip. "This is the address where I see other patients when I'm not at Briarcliff. Feel free to call or visit if you need assistance."

"God, thank you. I don't know what else to say." She wiped the tears off her cheekbones amazed at his kindness.

"Keep it on the down low, will you? I don't want Sister Jude or any of those other monsters snooping around in my private matters."

"Of course, doctor."

He was turning to leave when he turned over his shoulder, smiling softly. "You are a lovely lady, Miss Peyser. I'd hate to see such a person go to waste."

"Thank you."

He chuckled lightly, calling as he strode back to the triple-arched doorway. "Happy Halloween, Wendy."

Right. It was Halloween - that evening, children would be trick-or-treating in scary ghost, witch, skeleton costumes. Filling pillow cases with popcorn balls and candy, unwrapping caramels and trading baseball cards. None of it would make sense without Lana. She wouldn't give up, though. She'd do anything for that woman, in any situation she got her ass into. She wouldn't lose her, and she'd keep trying anything and everything until she was released. At least, for now, she knew there was somebody to look out for her.

Wendy called halfheartedly. "Happy Halloween."

XXX

The spectral light blinded her half lidded eyes, causing bright orb-like floaters to obstruct her vision as she felt a tugging below her waist. A listless groan escaped her mouth, but the doctor was long away from noticing the noises she was making. Something sticky and warm pooled at her neck, produced from the back of the ear where some type of tool had been drilled. Heaven knew what he took.

The least he could have done was put her out first. So she didn't have to be so miserable. So the world - the world being Dr. Arden - didn't have to know what a disconsolate nothing Jennifer Ellen Autumn was. Exhaustion seeped in like the smell of mildew into a room, slowly taking over for the past few - years, days, seconds.

_"Jennifer, baby?" _

She focused on the work light above her, dilating in and out of focus. She barely paid notice to Dr. Arden now. What he was doing to her body all felt numb.

_"Jennifer?" _

Her eyes had fluttered closed. Maybe this was what the end felt like. Another needle punctured her inner thigh, but she felt nothing other than the temperate surface of the steel against her florid skin. The light behind her pinkened lids began to fade.

A hand shook her. "Jennifer? Jennifer, baby?"

"Hmm?" Jen moaned from the gentle tapping against her shoulders, wondering how long she'd been sleeping. She blinked, shut her eyes, blinked again. Yawning, she finally managed to fully open both eyes. Her mind was still fuzzy, the last remnants of a nightmare chased away by the realization that it was all false, she was once again awake.

She was splayed on the bed, a smoldering cigarette in between her fingers. Damn, she must have fallen asleep, dozed off while she was lying on top,of the covers. Her legs were curled up, skirt splayed across her knees, and her hair was in disarray that the nicest people might consider beautiful.

"I'll take that." Elliot smirked slightly in the dim-lot room. It was still light outside when she fell asleep, but the light streaming through the window was dim, twilight. Elliot lifted the cigarette to his lips, taking a delft drag and puffing the smoke indefinitely as he strode to the window. It was humid inside, a damp summer, and he yanked the window open,immediately fluttering the yellow curtains.

Jen sat up in bed, stretching her arms behind her as she yawned. "I wasn't done with that."

"You're gonna burn the whole damn house down."

Jen was off the bed with one quick creak of the mattress springs, wrapping her arms underneath her husband's so her palms lay against the planes of his firm chest. He took another drag of the hand-me-down joint and snuffed it out in the neighboring ashtray sitting docile on the nightstand.

"And so what if I did?"

Elliot rocked her back and forth and she listened to his heartbeat through his back, inhaling the scent of his suede vest. "They'd take you in for arson."

"I'm no pyro."

"I think you are." Elliot turned her around, snaking his fingertips towards her hips. "A sick, twisted, inferior pyromaniac with no regard to human nature." A smile danced as his lips as he leaned down, pressing his lips momentarily to her own that hadn't expected such a sudden contact.

"Mmm... Isn't that why you picked me?" Jen let her arms hang loosely around his neck, her hangs limply broken at the wrists so her fingertips could trace lovely patterns just below his neck where they would reach.

Elliot chuckled. "That and a few other reasons." He kissed her neck, the wetness of his lips spreading as cool summer air, refreshing and smelling of cut grass, swelled around them. "I think you look so beautiful like this." He breathed against her neck, moving his head back up to rock her and stare into her eyes. "Right after an unplanned nap... Clothes all askew, hair perfectly messed up." He paused, stroking his thick finger across her cheek to tuck a loose piece of chestnut hair off her cheekbone. The pins that held her hair so pristinely at the beginning of the day were sliding out of her hair as well, jabbing her in the neck, but at the moment she didn't mind. "That's why I married you."

Her hand slid down his back farther, curling at the small of his back. "Oh yeah? Nothing to do with the arson?"

The soft sound he made was close to a laugh but expelled itself from his nose. "Well, I told myself, 'At least you'll always keep me warm'."

"Mmhm." She was almost completely immersed in him, surrounded by the man as he enveloped her. The hear only grew fonder as he cradled her head against his pumping chest, soothing her with a tepid hand sliding up the back of her untucked blouse.

"Mommy?" Jen turned at the bitty voice coming from the doorway, letting go of Elliot but allowing her fingertips to trail over his abdomen to leave the memory of them.

"What is it, baby?" She hurried over and scooped up Connie, lifting her so her small legs dangled in her hips instead of wrapping around. Her curly brunette hair was done in two crooked corkscrew pigtails at her ears and her thin face was frightened as her mother rocked her close.

"Night-scares." She whispered against Jen's neck, though her mother knew that she really meant 'nightmares'.

"There's nothing to be afraid of." Promised Jen, pressing a kiss to the side of her head. "Let Mommy take you back to bed."

"Daddy." The four-year-old reached from Jen's arms to Elliot, who scooped her up higher into his strong embrace, holding her like he used to when she was only a baby. Jen could find Connie's room in the dark. The poor little thing had night terrors - screaming in the middle of the night at absolutely nothing until there was somebody there to wake her or she managed to choke awake on her own. Jennifer never knew true fear until she heard her daughter scream. _Really _scream, not just at a frog, or a bug. She'd never been that kind of girl anyway. Luckily, tonight she hadn't been screaming.

The door to her room was opened ajar, just the right amount for a little girl to get out on her own. Jen pushed it open and flicked the light on to do her routine check for crooks and monsters.

"Where was it?" She smoothed a palm on Elliot's forearm and patted her daughter's hand.

"Under the bed." Connie whimpered as Jen opened the closet, pulling out the special sword. It was only a stick from the yard, but to the little girl, it was a magic sword that scared off monsters. Jen leaned down very carefully, wielding the thin branch like it was really a weapon, lifting the bed skirt. "No monsters."

Connie breathed a sigh of relief as Jen took her in her arms again, laying her gently in bed, pulling the covers up to her legs. It was too hot for much of a blanket but she could never fall asleep without the weight of one. "But what if they come back?"

Elliot sat at the end of her bed, scooping up Connie's stuffed bear. He was tattered and had a rip in one ear, but also had a smaller version of the monster-slaying sword tied to his paw with twine. Most little girls would have a tea party in the back yard, but no - Connie had to be different, a brave warrior with a teddy to match. "Sir Snuggles will protect you while you're sleeping." Elliot explained, tucking him under her arm. "No more bad guys."

"But there are bad guys outside."

"Well, we protect the house from those ones." Jen explained, stroking the hair off Connie's pale forehead. "So they don't get in, you know?"

"What if you can't? What if they hurt you?"

Jen sat on the edge of the bed, swinging her legs over so she was lying next to her child, stroking her nails on her ear. "There's good and evil." She explained as Elliot smoothed a palm over her smooth leg gently. Their daughter wouldn't be shaded by lies, she had to know the truth. "Good is like you. Sweet, caring. Mom and Daddy are good too, because we take care of you. We love you. So much. But there is also evil. Not monsters like in your dreams."

She looked frightened. "Like what?"

"Well...bad guys, who do bad stuff to other people."

She cried in shock. "Why?"

"Sometimes, baby, for no reason at all. But that's why there are good people. To protect littler good people from the bad people. So me and Daddy will never let anything happen to you, no matter what."

"Promise?"

"Cross our hearts." Elliot said, and they both did the crossed heart symbol over their chests.

"I'm not scared anymore."

"Good. That's right, close your eyes." Elliot patted her head and smiled as Jen kissed her one last time before gently climbing out of the bed. Jen took his arm, wrapping it around her shoulders and pressing her chin to it gently.

"Is the evil gone?" Her pipsqueak voice came in the darkness, and Jen answered.

"We'll keep it away from you." But it's never gone.

**Okay, so... It might have been a little bit confusing, no? Here are a couple things that might help! **

**Dustie, Dean, and David live in modern day time. **

**Wendy's visit to Briarcliff occurred on Halloween, twenty-four days before current time in 1964 **

**Fact: Wendy and Lana's car is a 1963 Chevy Impala convertible. They originally planned on getting red, but Lana fell in love with the turquoise model.**

**Fact: Elliot's favorite part of Jen is a birthmark on her thigh shaped like a balloon. **

**Fact: Dustie is short for Duvessa, but she hates her name **


	8. Choked Out

**Thank you again for the wonderful support!**

**I apologize for the part that switches perspectives a lot... It was the way it had to be to make sense... I promise, the next chapter will be very eventful! **

Chapter Eight

Dustie reached carefully through the broken glass pane of the door, easing her arm in so the jagged glass didn't scrape her arm. Part of her was afraid that something lurking in the sinister old haunted place would grab her arm and start gnawing it off, but another part of her wished it would. Methodically, she hunted in the darkness for the doorknob on the other side, feeling with blind fingers.

Dean crunched through the hallway of broken glass, his boots creating eerie callbacks on the floor like he was walking over a trap door. Dustie groaned with dissatisfaction, still swiping around for the doorknob. It was just within reach, she knew it had to be. Ah-ha! Her hand touched the cold surface, and luckily, there was just a small switch lock to slide to vertical position.

"Open sesame, fucker." she smirked, kicking the door open. Fragments of the glass still stuck in the frame crumpled to the ground with their brothers and sisters with the most force they had probably seen in years.

Dean coughed, snuffing his arm over his nose which immediately began to run. "Holy Hell, that smells like shit, God!" The stenches wafting from the hallway were anything but friendly and homey, Dustie even had to admit that. It reeked of dead animal carcasses down there. With watering eyes, she lifted her Polaroid and snapped a shot.

"Come on." She tucked the developing photo away, shoving it into her bag and letting the camera hang around her neck.

"Damn, I'm not going down there," Dean complained, shoving his t shirt over his nose. It rode up at the stomach so part of his midriff was showing, exposing his slightly hairy belly. "It smells like my Gram's house after she lay dead in it for a week."

She clicked on her flashlight. "It isn't that bad, fuckin' sissy." The corridor made a hallow sound as the wind began to pick up outside in the early stages of night, creating ghostly howls. It smelled like rotting meat in the cellar-like section, probably an oven for animals that crawled in there an dies, but this was the only way that wasn't blocked by a ton of junk and debris.

"I'm not a sissy, I don't wanna smell like road kill." Though reluctantly, Dean was following her, careful not to touch any of the rags or rusty chains hung from the ceiling.

"Stop whining, the entrance has to be around here somewhere." Dustie pressed the backs of her fingers to a thick wooden door, checking for overheat. It was cool against her skin, moisture seeping into her palm, and she pulled it open win all her might. The door hung open with a lonely, forgotten notion in the hallway, gaping like a screaming dead corpse. "Come on."

"Me first." Dean checked to make sure the coast was clear, even though it already obviously was, and stepped over the remaining corpse of a tipped-over desk that had long since been torn apart. The boards creaked underneath his steel toed boots, and he offered her a hand over so she didn't trip and wreck her camera. Even in reluctance, he was a rugged gentleman.

"Look at this." Dustie stroked her fingertips over the wall which was crowned in intricate graffiti. Paintbrush strokes depicted Bloody Face in his prime, mask of stitched skin pulled over his identity, literally a symbolic mask, and five meat hooks hung above the sloppily painted violation that was fading on the dim green tile.

"Sick." Dustie felt Dean shudder up against her shoulders as he brushed by, clicking on his flashlight. She followed him fearlessly, scanning the piles of damp papers scrunched up underneath a thick door, along with balmy rags covered in grease stains, maybe drippings from the rotting ceiling. A few folding mattresses were pushed up against the wall too. Whoever had last curated the place must have wanted whoever was in there out of the way of whatever lurked on the opposite side of the door.

"Help me." Dustie wasn't about to let a few corroded mattress frames stop her from the death chute. There was something so thrilling of a body shuttle palace, a kingdom for spirit to be trapped and surround her own spectral self. She was into that type of gothic stuff. Gave her great art inspiration. She'd told herself for weeks that once she saw the spiraling death pit, her walls would be full of darkened paintings and inspiration scribbled in various patterns of doth.

Dean braced himself against the frame, using all of his weight until a screeching sound called out across the concrete. With a final grunt, he tossed the ruddy mattress against the wall with the bounce-back of rusted springs that were probably far from use. He leaned down, bending his knees until he crouched near a pile of crumpled newspapers.

"How old are those?"

Dean traced his stubby fingernail over the yellowed page. "December fifth, 1969."

Dustie scooped one up as well, kicking aside a few wood scraps from what appeared to be another torn-apart piece of furniture, letting it flutter out of her hand with boredom before crossing back over the cluttered concrete floor. David could sit there and go through old yellow newspapers for hours, but she was set on seeing that shuttle.

"One step closer." She winked, offering him her hand up. He folded the paper and nearly set it on top of the moldy pile, getting to his feet. There was a large padlock on the door, wound in chains and a deadbolt. Dustie's heart sank, but not enough to be discouraging.

"Old buildings," she paused, trying to remember her architectural studies. "Their entrances and exits were never set in stone. Well, this one literally is, but..." She paused, noticing Dean's lack of interest. "Dean, stop being an ass-"

"Im not! If there's no way in-"

"Don't you wanna know what it sounds like in there?" She'd have to keep coaxing him. She pressed her hips against his and drilled her nails into his waist, trailing them up his back and under his shirt to leave cool fingertip trails. "Hmm?" Dustie rested her forehead against his, breathing lightly. "Don't you?"

Dean hesitated, leaning down to press his lips on her neck where her heartbeat throbbed. He was panting heavily now, sweat forming in between his peck muscles, the tiny fuzzy molecules of his t shirt sticking to his skin uncomfortably. "This place is falling apart at the seams."

"So am I." She winked, feeling his vocal chords throb in a purr against the wetness of her lips. "Don't you wanna please me?"

He paused. "Let's find a way in before David comes looking for us."

Dustie grinned in satisfaction - she was quite measured in the nature of getting her own way. Knew exactly which buttons to press to heighten his performance. They sifted through the wreckage of once-furniture until Dean surfaced with the leg to what might have been a foyer chair years ago.

"It's a standard bolt door," the girl muttered matter-of-factly, shoving the scrap into the jam of the padlocked door. "Should be able to slide this in, if it's rusted enough. Push." She ordered, jamming the plank in deeper as Dean pressed against the door, groaning as the foundation began to crack. There was the sound of a bolt clicking on the other side. Dean, face soaked in beads of sweat mixing with his dark freckles, stood erect and grinned.

"You hear that? It worked!"

"Easy there, fella. Still have some work to do." She began unwinding the lengths of chain links binding the door, tossing them in the piles of dewy newspapers with clattering muffled sounds. Dean gathered the length in his arms, carrying them out of harm's way of the door. Dustie pulled it open. "Whoa."

The pit was entirely dark aside from a small leaking drain above the tunnel which emitted a foggy light from the outside nighttime seeping into the immense darkness that sent a shiver up and down Dustie's body. This was it. This was her place. Dean gripped her hand, clicking on his flashlight once again.

"Ready?"

"For the longest time." She leapt over the bent metal mess table Dean had used for a doorstop, and he scuttled in after her, refusing to lose her in the small portion of light beamed by his pen light. "Dean, this way!" He heard her boots crunching leagues ahead of him. Damn it, he was losing her in his beam. That eager bitch-

"Dustie?" He called, his voice echoing like whiplash along the concrete to the harrowing tunnel. He felt very uncomfortable in here, not just a funnel for the dead, but the entire place. The asylum, Briarcliff's haunted nature, the death, all the death -

He shone his dim, dying light against the wall, feeling against it in case he had to find his way back. "Dust? Dustie, where'd you go? I'm all alone, I - I can't-" it felt hard to breathe and he thought he might hyperventilate in fear, breathing in every single spirit here. He wasn't a godly man, but he might pray if he had to. He shined the flashlight across the stony corridor, over a grate that dripped something brown. The air only got hotter. He began to sweat. It was so small in there suddenly, the walls were closing in. Closing in, closing in, tighter and tighter.

"Dustie!" His voice was weak and he was tired of this shit. Her running off like this in a fucking asylum, this _fucking asylum. _"Damn it, where are you? I'm not playin' this anymore, this is some jank shit! I'm leaving!"

Any other noise was smothered by his ragged breathing as he realized that banging sound in his ears was, in fact, his own heart. He whispered. "Dustie?"

"I'm just replacing the film." The voice in the darkness was directly in front of him and he breathed a sign of complete relief. The soundbox her clicking the film cartridge into the socket of her Polaroid camera. "I'm gonna take your picture."

"Dustie... Where's your flashlight?" He shook his own but the batteries were out of juice.

"Say cheese." Her voice was muffled and the flash of the camera went off before he had a chance to feel uneasy. In the limpid flash, he saw the veiny mask of Bloody Face, a blunt object banging him to the ground.

"Dustie?! Dustie!" He screamed, scrambling on the ground, but he could feel something was wrong. His left leg was a limp squiggle, a coursing pain in his head throttling up and down his spine. The side of his head where he'd been hit felt oddly soft, like it had been dented as easily as an orange. His tongue was swollen and he realized he'd bitten straight through it, his crooked front teeth still lodged in the twitching muscle.

The camera went off once more again before he felt a coarse hand wrap around his limp ankle and drag him farther into the chute.

XXX

"Bakery duty." The orderly handed Kit, in front of Lana in line, an apron and glared at him. Carl was a hulking, intimidating man to outside eyes, Lana had heard he fought in Korea, but he kept shut up about anything he saw in the wards, usually. He was fond of "favors" from Shelley, as she witnessed firsthand when she snuck into Briarcliff at night. He paid them off, though, mainly giving her the easier tasks. Laundry, sorting. He was harmless though, as long as you behaved. Merely Sister Jude's muscle to threaten with. Lana knew she did all the beatings herself.

"Infirmary." He muttered at her as Kit circled back to the record player where he stood dragging on his newly lit cigarette.

"What?" She shook her head, dazed as the rest of the jittery line waiting behind her to receive their duties for the day chattered nervously. She'd been to the infirmary once; Dr. Thredson insisted that her burns be examined after their traumatic therapy session. The ones working there were somehow much sweeter, softer than those on the wards. It was a strangely quiet place - the rest of Briarcliff was filled with traumatized screams and howls of _"don't take me there!" _and unintelligible begging.

"Sick bay's crowded and we're short on staff. Hit the back of the line, Winters." He shoved her along out of the way, towards the center of the common room. Her morning pills were starting to take action. She'd learned to get used to them but her nose was running,tongue mushy, head fuzzy. It would only be a matter of an hour or so before her body had settled, but she gripped the back of the chair as the record spun into her head, _Dominique ique ique ique... _

"Tipsy." Kit grabbed her arm before she could go toppling into an art easel, keeping her straight. Lana pressed the heels of her hands to her sore temples, letting the sound of her heart banging in her ears drown out the relentlessly cheerful tune. "You need a drink or something?"

"I'll be fine." She shook her head, I glazing her eyes. The pills were nothing more than tranquilizers. At first, she was resentful of them and even afraid, but whatever they gave her was mostly harmless and was only meant to regulate behavior.

The infirmary was just as she recalled it; dim and smelling of disinfectant. Without a doubt the cleanest place in the entire building. The door begrudgingly creaked closed behind her, much too loud and out-of-place in such a large open space. Iron bed frames lined the walls, shaded by windows with blinds half closed, rainy light attempting desperately to penetrate the regulated darkness. A nun Lana had seen a few times, Sister Enid, was tending to the bedside of a coughing patient, holding his head up so the air he sucked in through his lungs wouldn't choke him to death.

"Good, they sent some help." Another one of the nurse nuns, one Lana didn't recognize, smiled dimly and took Her arm,leading her to a basin full of clean water, dipping Lana's hands in manually as if she didn't know she could do it on her own. Lana didn't blame her - sometimes her motor skills felt sluggish and sloth-like. "Wash your hands. I'll probably have you administer medications."

Lana wasn't good with sick people. It was always Wendy that knew what to do - how to take care of someone, ways to make them feel better, even if it wasn't physically. Lana remembered when she was sick with a flu months ago. Wendy called in a substitute teacher for three days and pulled her hair off her neck each time she felt bile pushing it's way back up her throat. She made her toast when she was well enough and lay in bed with her, talking for hours. Lana wasn't good at any of that.

She washed her hands in the shockingly cold water basin, wiping them on the downy towel that was draped over the back of it, awaiting the petite nun to return and administer her tasks. She eventually clicked back in her flat-soled shoes, handing Lana a metal tray holding small matching metal shot cups and a clean spoon.

"Everyone gets a dose of paregoric. Down the hatch, close the mouth if they won't do it themselves. Can you handle that?"

Lana took the tray and nodded, starting at the cot beds towards the end of the room. It was more like a long and narrow great hall, perhaps once built to be the original mess hall. They'd moved it downstairs of course, to be more accessible to the kitchen staff, but the place was still reminiscent of an eatery.

The first few patients were cooperative; a woman she recognized named Eadie who often faked illness to get out of chores. She was sitting up in bed with a book in her lap titled _The Fellowship Of The Ring, _which she scrolled through hungrily. "Afternoon, Miss Winters." Eadie chorused, turning the page nonchalantly. Lana rested her hip against the bed, setting the tray beside the woman's covered lumpy feet and pouring a sloppy spoonful of medicine.

"Are you sure you want this?"

Eadie shrugged and accepted the purple-brown slop, regarding it lightly with her tongue as she returned to reading.

Lana kneeled at the bedside of a small man with glasses curled in his hands. His eyes were infected red, a glazed-over layer of skin that had grown over the healthy tissue. It was then that she heard a hoarse whisper.

"Lana?" And a pause. "Lana... Winters?"

She turned around, startled and holding her bottom lip between her straight white top teeth, searching for the source of such the ill bitty voice. Down the row of beds was empty, accept for one. A tiny hand reached for her under a cluster of thin, tangled blankets that created a netting for her frail limbs. Lana left the tray resting against a wobbly bedside table, striding to the bedside on the tiptoes of her Keds sneakers.

"Oh, my God." She cried, immediately sitting against the white bed sheets, cupping Jen's face in her hands. As she slid her palm onto her neck, she felt sweaty and cold, cold as _ice. _"Jen?"

"Lana." She croaked meagerly, Lana's hand wrapping around the trembling woman's. Her palms were clammy and moist, like she'd been working in the dewy grass all day, and she could feel her hot and ragged breath against her hand as she stroked her cheek.

"No, no, no." Lana whispered under her breath, quickly pushing the hair off Jen's sweaty forehead. The neck of her large hospital gown was ringed with a stain of sweat, her forehead covered in droplets. Lana tapped her face to check her awareness while she cracked her eye opened three quarters of the way to view her - friend? Were they friends? - and her fearful expression.

"Lana." She whimpered, though her dry lips pulled into some mixture of a smile and a grimace. Her hands touched the other woman gently as if she were afraid Jen would crumple in her arms, that the bones would immediately sag in their skin and recede. That skin was icy and she found her pulse to be ever so weak.

"I'm right here. It is me." She chewed on the insides of her cheeks, removing a stray piece of her shaggy chestnut bangs from her forehead. "It's me. Me, Lana. Cherry. Remember?"

"I remember you." Her eyes fluttered so they were half-lidded with exhaustion. "Lana... Lana..."

"Shh." She shushed, continuing to smooth her hand over her sallow cheeks. The woman had seen better days. No longer was she the lively, snarky woman brought to Briarcliff; something about her was off, a tenseness and reality of darkness that had not been there before. As Lana tucked her sweaty hair back, her fingers came away damp and red. It was a warm sticky substance behind her ear, some type of syrup. It took her a moment to realize it was blood. She gingerly grabbed Jen by the shoulder and easily pulled her onto her side, gasping. The pillow was covered in blood from the wound she discovered behind her ear, seeping a ruddy brown on the cheap cotton-linen, dripping onto her collar and leaving trails resembling a murder scene. Lana pulled her up farther, Jen's head rolling limply like she was highly intoxicated.

From her half-sitting position, the other woman's eyes had fluttered three quarters of the way closed now, and her lips were parted, emitting a half-winded cry. Quickly gathering the corner of the blanket, Lana held it behind her ear, shaking her. "Jennifer? Jennifer, wake up. Wake up, Jen, wake-" the demand came in a hoarse whisper upon noticing that she had become lethargic from the loss of blood behind her ear that stained the pillow.

"I can't." she coughed and a small amount of pale yellow stomach fluid exited her mouth, splattering like mucus into the sheets that covered her legs. Lana pulled them back and discovered a pool of red between her legs, dripping into the slight dip of the wannabe mattress. BLOOD, BLOOD, BLOOD. It was getting everywhere; on the sheets her legs were tangled up in, her hair from the drilled hole behind her ear, drip, drip, dripping down her shoulder and along the curve of her arm and end of her fingers that limply twitched. Appalled, she started shaking her violently, but her head only toggled back and forth on her shoulders like a duck with a snapped neck.

"You have to. Don't do this. Don't do this, Jen. Sister! SISTER!" Lana demanded, screaming for the nun who had exited minutes ago, cradling her head with her palm. "Sister!"

"No, noo." She mumbled in a slurred tone, the stringy bits of hair from her neck tumbling into her face. "Don't call... her over... here. She'll only... make it worse."

"Stay awake." Snapping desperately, Lana let her body drop back onto the bloody mattress where more blood from under her gown pooled on the sheets. Her head rolled to the side and her arms loosely thumped against the mattress, fingers curling from palms and hanging limply off the bed.

"Jen? Jen! JEN!" With a cracking voice, Lana grabbed her shoulders and began to shake her against the bed, creating a rabid creaking sound with the old frame. Searching frantically for her wrist, she pressed her fingers to the blue veins, searching for a pulse. "Jenny, god damn it!"

XXX

Jen's eyes glazed lightly as she lost focus every few seconds, trying to regain whatever consciousness she had left. Lana was on top of her now, shaking life back into her, but instead of it seeping through the other woman's fingertips, the soul tapping at her eyes was vying to get out. To be free.

The woman appeared behind Lana. Her screams were becoming muffled, far-off as if she was hearing them through a tunnel - she couldn't quite make out what she was saying, but she could hear the frantic desperation. She studied the woman resting comfortably behind her; she was very pale and beautiful, with delicate skin made of alabaster or porcelain. She'd never seen anyone quite like her; poised and elegant, an antique gentleness about her that no longer seemed to exist in the world.

Her smile was completely gentle and subtle on her red lips, the softest she'd ever seen. "Jennifer, dear..."

Her body throttled underneath Lana, who was struggling to feel the pulse at her neck, keep her heart going, but she was hemorrhaging quickly, the tepid blood seeping between her legs and quickly becoming frigid. "I'm cold."

"I know. I can make it go away." She said softly in a voice that was childlike yet held all of the maturity in the world. "Would you like me to end your suffering?"

"Take me." A small grimace spread across Jen's lips that was somehow close to a smile, and in that moment, she was certain it was time. "I don't wanna feel this anymore."

"You don't need to explain." The angel soothed, a pair of majestic dark wings spreading from her back elegantly. "I don't judge."

Jen felt the lump forming in her throat like a piece of ice she'd swallowed that went down lengthwise instead of parallel. When she opened her mouth, her teeth left gossamer strings of bubbly saliva mixed with blood that trailed down her lips like spitty tears. "I can't do it anymore."

"Hush now. I'm not here to deign you. I simply come when I am called."

_Please, please let me die. Please, oh please, let this be the day I die. Don't make me live another minute of this. _

"Where are you going to take me?" She lipped as Lana blurred around her; the only thing she could make out was her face that was pulled into a grimace as she cupped the back of her head, shaking her. She had no such strength Lana was asking her to have; now all she had was weakness.

"On." The angel said softly, folding her hands in front of her torso. They were clad in satiny black glove coverlets and part of her face was masked by a lace veil.

Jen's arms hung limply off the bed while Lana screamed over he, two nuns entering the picture, but all she heard was that tender, careful tone that was soothing like a mother singing a lullaby.

"Shall I kiss you?"

She waited limply as the woman gently placed a hand on the small of Lana's back. There was a kindness in her fingers when she stroked them down softly. "Kind woman." The angel paused, studying Lana with opaque opal irises. It was as if Lana did not feel or see her, the wind barely rustled her hair as she leaned down against the bed, her veil brushing against Jen's cheek as she whispered. "It will all be over soon."

"Kiss me."

Her lips barely brushed Jen's as she caressed them with Death.

XXX

"Jen? JEN!" Lana whacked her chest as she went limp, eyes laid half-closed over the sockets as she became a cadaver. Several of the sisters had come running quickly after Lana had began her desperate screaming, and they gathered around as Lana pressed her fingers to her wrist. The heartbeat was faint, and maybe it was her own heartbeat she was feeling through her fingers. It was already too late.

Sister Enid pumped her chest while Lana shook her as if she might somehow just be in a slumber, available to wake at any moment with a due amount of jostling. Her enervated body rocked back and forth under Lana's hands as she yelled fiercely until her voice sounded hoarse.

She felt cool hands wrangling her wrists behind her back, holding her while a few others worked over the placid body. "Help her." She demanded, but Jen's eyelids failed to flutter over the ebony whites, the light lost from the eyes that never once asked too many questions or judged.

"Jennifer? Jennifer, do you hear us?"

"Oh, Lord." Sister Hope, a young and innocent woman, started to cry gasping sobs. "She's gone."

Lana had toppled to the floor, reaching through a veil of vision blurred by burning tears, the wetness brimming over and dampening her cheeks as she wept, muttering in a voice scratchy from screaming. "No, not now."

XXX

Sachath was holding Jen's cold body against her chest, warming her from the inside out, from core to skin, and yet she still shivered. She could watch the infirmary nuns working to revive her corpse. Pumping her inanimate heart, failing to resuscitate her defunct body.

"You're still cold." The angel observed, reaching to touch Jen's cheek. She shivered at the warmth seeping in from her beautiful fingers that curled in concern around her skin. She reached to place her cool hand over top of it, moving it away from her cheek. Everything was silent, peaceful - aside from Lana's voice.

_Not now, Jenny. _

Sachath observed her watching Lana with water in her eyes, her lip trembling. She touched that quivering lip with her gloved thumb, turning her face to look into her eyes. Now that she had joined the woman, her own skin seemed to glow, taking on an iridescent luster, and she could see beyond her black veil. Behind it was a gnarled eye of white and black, rolled into the back of her beautiful skull.

"Are you regretful?" She stroked Jen's face again, comforting her for the decision she was making. "I believe you have great ambition, Jennifer."

"I have to know."

"What?"

"Just - why." She eyed Lana's pale, ghostly face that was shrouded through a curtain of oblivious mist.

"It must be awfully hard to fulfill business if you come with me."

Jen wiped at her tears, batting them angrily from underneath her baggy eyes as she curled in the angel's embrace, wrapping her twiggy arms around her knees. It wasn't supposed to be like that. Of the seconds ticking by while Dr. Arden was working on her, that sadistic torture, there wasn't one of those she didn't wish to be dead. _It wasn't supposed to be like this, she wasn't supposed to feel this way. _She felt like she might have closure now, even if she didn't understand it, but there was an emptiness to her heart.

"I come when I am called." The specter reminded. "When you see the truth for what it is."

"What truth?"

"All truth, child." She chided lightly, moving all of Jen's tangled hair to one shoulder, moving it off of her neck that was still damp with sweat. "Shall they bring you back?"

Jen felt a pressure on her own hand while watching the scene unfold around her and she realized that Lana - that God damn Cherry - had taken her lifeless gray hand. The heat transferred from her palm, stained red in Jen's own blood, that radiated life, no matter what kind of prison it was kept in, whatever tried to break it.

Her lip trembled, and before she could part them to whimper, her head bobbed up and down in a nod.

A great pain tore through her body, like her limbs were tethered to four horses that were whipped into different directions. Just as the horses began to bolt, she opened her eyes and gasped, filmy bloody and spittle trailing down her chin, staining her teeth as she coughed on her own vomit. She was alive, whatever part of life was still left in her. It was there again.

"She's back." Sister Enid cried, working quickly to tourniquet Jen's botched surgery. "Sister Hope, go and get some towels. Jenny, we almost lost you." She patted Jen's weak hand. "Bless you, Lord."

Jen's eyes peeled weakly and shut almost immediately at the blinding light, the bodies hovering above her, and she saw the angel standing behind Lana Winters. Watching. Waiting with those lips so red, skin so pale, and wings so flaxen. Jen closed her eyes in exhaustion and fought back tears. She didn't have the energy to weep.

Most of the things she recalled after that was a halo of gray intentions, foggy remembrances that stuck in her mind the the ticking of a clock, the rotating of the hands. She was the big hand and everything else around her was the small. Jen was dependent on the world around her to live. To survive. Her mouth was opened for her, medicine shoved underneath her tongue and seeping to the back of her throat, the pain of digestion haunting and always relevant.

She lay in that bad, sweating through her sheets. Wondering why on earth she hadn't let Sachath take her. Why she hadn't accepted her fatal caress, felt the pain leave her body while her face paled. The answer lay somewhere in the subconscious of her slowly withering mind.

Sweat soaked the ring around her collar and her head rested limply on the pillow. The infirmary had been quiet. She couldn't sleep. No, she was far from it, but all she could manage was lying awake with her eyes shut, listening to the bustling around her. Sometimes there were prodding, cold fingers on her clammy neck, she felt them rolling her over and occasionally replacing the bandage over the hole drilled behind her ear. They had managed to cease the bleeding between her legs, but the pain still shot through her body, throttling her with silent pain each time she felt it ripple up and down her back and below her belly button.

She heard them talking about her, falsely perceiving her asleep; she hadn't slept in days. Some of the voices were familiar. The nuns that were friendly with her, a doctor that proctor end the infirmary.

"You can't just let her die." A voice snapped, rising out of her ill delirium. "Unlike your other joint victims, she has family. People that will sue the pants off this place in less than a second if-"

"Stop chastising me, I'm well aware. The girl won't die, Sister, she's in much better shape than Miss Bertrand, and I didn't expect to see her through the night." Dr. Arden's voice punctured her reverie and she shifted in her conscious slumber, groaning lightly. "I'm certified in my practices, and I assure you, my procedures are anything but harmful-"

"Just take a look at her, Arthur." Sister Mary Eunice muttered, her tone scorching yet hissed in such a quiet manner that it made Jen internally flinch. "You're wasting your time. No one is going to bother spending any of their valuable time on a serial killer. I hope you're proud."

"I hardly think you've the qualifications to censure me with your skelp of misunderstanding." There was a hitch in his voice as he paused, speaking quietly them. "She isn't one of my - projects, Sister."

"I know that. Hell, Arthur. I've been toting around your buckets of blood to satisfy those - repulsing gluttons roaming the forest. They're getting out. Stronger now. There have been reports. I sincerely hope you-"

"I am aware!" He cut her off again, his voice growing louder though she could now tell that they were moving farther away. "The Monsignor's already been meddling about in my affairs for the last few weeks. I should have taken care of this long ago, but I've been so preoccupied with my previous progressives."

The voices had all but ceased and Jen's head pounded, the pain from her spine shooting down below her belly button again. She could feel herself slipping, fingers twitching, sweat dripping down her forehead and into the crevice of her nose. More weeks could have passed when she felt thick fingers prodding her eyelids, forcing her eyes open. The blurry image of Dr. Arden hovered over her in the darkness. Her immediate reaction was to scoot away as quickly a so possible, but she doubted she had the energy to prop herself up on her elbow.

"Not quite yet." Dr. Arden stated quietly, plunging a metallic needle into her neck.

XXX

The skylight shed opaque light over the wrought iron of the spiraling staircase, casting its rays around center pole that supported several levels of the foyer. Lana slid her hand lightly on the handrail, trailing her nails over the cast over the inner side of the stepping stairs as she ascended the seemingly never-ending "stairway to Heaven". Her hair was pulled back in a braid, tied in ribbon; that was the only thing she had and it had been tied around her wrist for quite some time. The thin denim cotton of her uniform jumper brushed against her pale knees as she reached her preferred level, crossing to the third banister where Jennifer leaned against the gated railing, overlooking the organized chaos of the foyer below.

"Cherry." She nodded once and dragged lightly on her half-spent cigarette, blowing the smoke elegantly from between bow lips. She smoked like a rich lady but with the perks of a peasant; smoking like a fish was one of her bad habits.

"Are you sure you should be smoking?" Lana pressed her hands to the railing, testing its strength. It was inevitable, make of metal, but she was over cautious these days. "You just defied death not three days ago. You're barely on your feet."

Jen barely looked up, sucking on her bottom lip as she let the end of her cigarette smolder in between her index and middle finger. "Well, aren't you just peaches and fucking cream?"

Lana shook her head, an uneven piece of her hair slipping from the sloppily done braid. She was always horrible at braiding and hair in general unless it was simply for utility or to comply to the standards of the men at the Gazette. Wendy was the one who was any good at doing hair. "Forgive me for trying to sneak you into the land of the living."

Jen pulled a metal clasp from the pocket of her striped sweater. It was baggy on her now; she'd lost a significant amount of weight over the last week, the bones of her wrist showing through her frail, ashy hands as she outstretched the opened clasp. It was surprising that she had been allowed out of bed. Lana took a cigarette and got close enough to Jen's alight joint to light it, taking a short drag.

"It's my birthday, the least you can do is cover me." The other woman craned her neck behind Lana momentarily to assure that the coast was clear. The infirmary nurses had been all over her after her death-scare. It was a wonder how well she'd gotten miraculously in the past few days.

Lana blinked in surprise, letting her arm hang over the banister. "How old?"

"Twenty-seven." She tapped the ash from the tip of her cigarette, shushing the flame dancing on the ground with the toe of her stained white sneaker.

"Happy birthday." Lana managed a pinched expression that might be considered enough of a smile to get by.

"Yeah, what a funny life it fucking is." Jen coughed at the smoke surrounding her head, batting at it nervously. There was a piece of clean gauze taped behind her ear from the drill wound - however she got it, Lana was still uncertain, but she wasn't about to ask. In fact, she hadn't talked to her much ever since - well, since she died in front of her eyes. It was so surreal to see her up and walking around ever since she saw her gray and lifeless corpse.

The silence between the two of them cloaked the pair like an umbrella until Jen broke the silence. "You know what I want for my birthday?"

Lana blew out her cigarette smoke. "What's that?"

After a while, Jen's fingers found the corroded, silver clasp and snapped the box open, grinding the finished joint on the pad. Her face was faintly lit by the glow of the industrial lighting above her, lining the ceiling like ducklings in a row. Lana's eyes drifted across the room, searching out any sign of an orderly that might order Jennifer back to bed. She could hear her soft, shallow breathing as she pressed her back against the pillar that supported the spiral staircase, and Lana switched positions so her elbows rested on the twisted iron grate.

"I wanna know why."

Surprised, Lana's eyes grazed up to her counterpart's, reading the mystery in the crystalline opals. "Know why what?"

"I wanna know why you're here."

She took a deep breath and her lips made an _O _shape as she blew out the tobacco smoke. Her lungs were burning but she took another sip with her throat anyway, avoiding that gaze that perched at her like a vulture in the rafters. "I..." She wanted to tell her. It was time, it was time she knew the reason she was tormented. But right now, she couldn't think of any of those reasons or where to even start.

"Gotta come out eventually."

Lana stared at the moving figures below, bustling around and screaming, banging appendages on walled surfaces, scraping tongues against the brick surfaces.

"Alright, I'll start." Jen shook her head, leaning over the railing opposite of Lana so her hands broke at the wrist and hung over the railing. "Hi, my name is Jen. I'm from Boston. I'm twenty-seven today." She paused, motioning with her hand to show Lana how to go on. "Few weeks ago, the cops dragged me out of bed and toted me off to jail. They decided here was the best place for me to stay while my fate was decided." She shrugged. "See? Easy. Not anything I haven't told you."

Lana breathed out through her nose into her hands that were pressed over her mouth and nose, clamping her molars on the end of her cigarette. Why was this so hard for her? Maybe it was because everything about it was wrong here, the minute details turned to memories of pain, shock, tears.

"Happy birthday to me. Happy birthday to me." Jen mumbled in a singsong tone, reminding her.

"Hi, my name is Lana. I was thirty-three years old last July." Her knuckles turned red and white splotched as she wrung her fingers around the wrought iron railings. They were a reminder that she was chained up hypothetically. There was nowhere else to go, but it was the aspect that she could lose an ally in this dark place - a friend - with one word. One wrong turn. She considered lying. But no... Jen would be able to tell. She couldn't make it up. "I'm here because..."

Lana felt a cool hand rubbing her shoulder blade as she reached out to put her hand on her shoulder, and Jen actually managed a sporadic smile. It was then that Lana realized that she'd barely ever seen the woman smile. Her eyes became serious. "Nothing I can't handle, Cherry."

The tears were coming on. Why was she crying? Was it because of Jen? Because of Wendy? Come on, pull it together Winters. "I'm here because I was trespassing."

It was half of the truth. She took a last drag of her spoiled cigarette, letting the smoke fill her lungs and smother her words. She felt Jen's shoulder brush her arm and she stiffened at the closeness, but didn't move away.

"Damn." Jen muttered under her breath, scuffing the toe of her shoe on the floor. "That's all... Well, my hypothesis was completely wrong."

She bit the insides of her cheeks. "What did you expect?"

"To be honest, you seem like - one of those women that looks perfect on the outside. Perfect smooth skin, bright eyes, pulling a toasty pot roast out of the oven with your puffy red oven mitts-"

"I'm a terrible cook."

Her face was campy as she shrugged, rubbing her palms up and down her arms as she shivered. "Damn." Her voice was schmaltzy as she slapped Lana's behind gently, turning to face the opposite direction while slipping the silver cigarette case back into her pocket where it was safe. Lana stared at as she strode down the corridor that was quiet aside from a distant tantrum happening somewhere and Lana scuttled after her, taking long strides to match Jen's small crooked ones.

"How'd you get caught?" Jen shrugged, heading towards the common room. Lana strode after her quickly, curling her fingernails in on her palms. "Why would anyone want to break _in _to this place."

Lana pauses, struggling to explain with the right words. "I'm a reporter." Those words were still prideful, full of befuddled dignity. "I wanted my story."

"Oh, I can see it now," Jen held her hands out in front of her as if she were on Broadway, staring up into the shining,sparkling lights. "Lana Winters presents: Briarcliff Blues: the story of sister Jude's saggy ass."

She couldn't help but cover her mouth as they entered the common room, immediately bombarded by the incessantly sanguine tune spinning away on the record player. "It wasn't like that. It isn't like that." She corrected herself, sidestepping Pepper, who twirled around with a frayed paintbrush covered in maudlin blue, followed by an orderly who was also painted in the same color. It has been some time since Pepper had tried to paint the orderlies, but it looks like they could erase the hypothetical "number of days without paint incident" board.

"Well, tell me what it was like." Jen sat on one side of an empty chessboard scattered in nights and rooks, beginning to set them up in order. Lana hated chess, but sat on the opposite side and began setting up her own pieces. Wendy was always finding a way to outsmart her with this game and she never knew how. It always drove her crazy, hence her dislike with chess. "Enlighten me with a reporter's mind."

Lana made her move on the board, speaking low over the sound of the cheery French singing. "I wanted a story on Bloody Face."

Jen smirked. "Yeah, so did every other reporter west of Springfield, babe."

"I got in to talk to Sister Jude the day Kit was supposed to arrive. I wrote the help column. Polishing silverware, vacuuming." She internally groaned. She didn't think she could possibly type another page on getting stains out of rugs. "It was hell, my editor was an asshole."

"Everyone's an asshole." She reminded blatantly, knocking out Lana's rook with a single swipe.

"I got in here by telling them I was doing a story on the bakery."

"If you wanted a story on shitty bread, I could have hooked you up."

Lana's lips pinched together. "Sister Jude saw right through me when I started asking questions about Kit Walker. It was all over, but - I needed to see him." She leaned her chin into her palm. "God, if I had to write one more column on household appliances, I was going to commit suicide. I snuck back that night." Without telling her about Sister Mary Eunice's secret tunnel, she continued. "In the men's ward, while looking for Kit... Something grabbed me. Something _not_ _human_ grabbed me from its cell, and I - woke up in restraints."

"I'm sorry." Her empathy was short lived as she rolled her eyes up. "Checkmate."

"Damn it." Jen was even better than Wendy. The rest of their conversation was suspended as a strident noise punctured the air, causing plenty of the patients to put their hands over their ears, rock back and forth, bang their appendages against tables and anything else they could find. Sister Mary Eunice let the whistle drop from her lips and catch on the chain around her neck after calling attention.

"It's come to my attention that the selected musical choices are not to everybody's liking. In the spirit of the celebration of everybody's favorite patient's birth," she eyed Jen and Lana slouched over the chess board, paying sly attention. "I have a selection of church and Jude-approved records for you to browse at your leisure." She motioned to the stack in her arms, moving to the record player, moving the needle with a swipe. Some people began to panic as the music stopped. "In honor of her new best friend forever," Sister Mary was moving a new record onto the phonograph, placing the needle in the respected place. "I'd like to dedicate this song to patient number 34897-_G, _Miss. Jenny. Autumn."

Lana noticed Jen glaring at the woman as she smiled brightly, a red glint in her otherwise shining blue eyes, striding away proudly from the record player as the record took its maiden voyage at Briarcliff, beginning with a bass guitar strum and snare hits, followed by the Beach Boys' harmonized voices.

_Wendy, Wendy what went wrong? _

_Oh so wrong... _

_We went together for so long. _

Lana immediately felt her heart drop into her stomach, churning in the stomach acid, eating away at the muscles that throbbed a million times a second. Her mouth turned dry, lips pursed as she felt the lump beginning to form in the back of her throat.

_Wendy I wouldn't hurt you like that_

_No no no_

_I thought we had our love down pat__,_

_Guess I was wrong__..._

"Lana?" She heard Jen's voice, but she didn't look up from her trance. _Wendy, Wendy, Wendy... What went wrong? Don't believe a word he said. Wendy, Wendy left me alone, hurt so bad! _

"Happy birthday." Sister Mary Eunice smiled down at Jen, who was gripping the arm rest on the wooden chair. Something about the woman, other than her snide nature and perfect body, flaxen blonde hair, made her squirm incredibly. Lana had grown used to her devilish demeanor and spiteful actions, but Jen was rigid next to her considerably. "You've blessed the world with yet another year on earth."

Lana bit her lip and dared look up at the nun, who pressed her palms to her hips, elbows pointed maniacally. "You..."

"Now, Miss Winters. Cat got your tongue?"

"I don't know where the fuck you came from, but why don't you go crawl into the seventh circle of hell where you belong?" Jen growled, her nails literally scraping at the once nicely finished wood of the chair.

The song spun louder on the record player, scratching underneath the needle, bumping along in that cheerfully sad love ballad. Lana felt the so. Rising in her throats things were falling apart around her,mthe walls of Briarcliff slowly crumbling as the other inmates and everything around Em began to deteriorate. Everything was muffled beside that beachy tune drilling into her ears like a skull jack. _Wendy, Wendy left me alone, hurt so bad. Wendy, Wendy left me alone, HURT SO BAD. _

"I heard you had quite the deal with the devil after your luxury stay in solitary," Sister Mary Eunice said with a time that sounded much like mock sympathy as she strode closer to Jen, tapping her nails on the table where the chess board sat dormant as she passed. Lana grimaced when she snuck a wink at her, smirking enough to be noticeable on,h to her. Her heart was hurting and there was nothing anyone could do, anything they _would _do if they could. A single tear rolled down her sallow cheekbone and her fingers didn't dart up to wipe it. "Tell me, Jenny... That night - the night you decided you were too lonely, did your fingers do the trick?"

Jen's face immediately turned red. "You mother fu-"

"Or did you use Miss Winters', since you're so close now?"

Jen was fuming in her seat, attempting to conceal her hate for the woman, but the anger had all but left Lana's system, a wave of nervous sadness washing over her body. Those images of those women in Dr. Thredson's slide show, various forms of undress, slide after slide, doing virtually nothing for her after countless photographs, those thoughts as Wendy's photo appeared from the projector.

_"Cutting edge diversion therapy. The theory is that we're training your body to be repelled by certain... Triggers." _

Triggers.

Lana tried to focus on a thing else around her, the curious patients that had gravitated towards the phonograph and the new stack of records, exploring the all-new supply of songs to play over and over again like _Dominique, _the sound of Jen's swearing and Sister Mary Eunice's husky voice, but she didn't understand the words. All she was hearing were the harmonized two-tones of _Wendy. _And her lunch. She could feel that coming back up.

_"Put the camera away!" Wendy complained, giggling and diving under the sheets. _

_"But you're so photogenic." _

Lana exploded from her seat like a missile, bee lining towards the large double doors to the common room, pushing her way through until she was in the hallway, sprawled on her hands and knees and heaving until she couldn't hear anything else other than that song. It was worse than _Dominique. _The pain was worse than anything. _Anything. _All the pain she had pushed deep down for the longest time. Betrayal. Wendy forgot her. That woman was the only person she had and she'd forgotten her.

"Hey?" A voice came spiraling back to her and Lana realized that she was curled on the corridor floor, clutching her stomach with one hand, wiping her tears with the other. She could hear the faint sound of The Viscounts streaming through the common room door, but she could have cared less about that. "Lana?"

Lana let one last sob out,wiping the orange stomach acid from her chin. More of it was splattered on the smock of her denim dress. She felt like such a child and hated to admit that she wished for nothing more than Wendy's arms around her, the warmth of her embrace. She might wipe her mouth with the sleeve of her sweater and rock her against her chest while cleaning her up. Press her lips to her damp hair. Promise everything would be alright. Jen wasn't going to do that. Jen wasn't Wendy. She wasn't Wendy.

"Lana? Who's Wendy?"

Come on, Winters. Hold it together. She struggled to a sitting position, wiping at her spoiled eyes with the sleeve of her coarse sweater.

"Who's Wendy?" Jen repeated again softly. Lana realized that there was a red mark across her cheek. The other woman winced as she raised her hand to cup her cheek, feeling the welt beginning to form from the obvious slap. "Mary Eunice." She whispered softly, reaching forward to move Lana's hair from her eyes.

"I'm here because..." Lana paused, taking a deep breath. Her lungs burned with the effort. It was time for the rest of the truth to emerge. "Because I shared a bed with another woman."

She refused to see her expression. She was already embarrassed enough and she didn't need to see the look of shock, horror, disgust on Jen's face. She felt Jen's hand leave her shoulder, slowly and awkwardly, and she slipped her own hand off of Jen's face. Are you-" Lana began subtly, clearing her throat. "Do you-

"Look," She stopped her, pressing her fingertips to her bare forearm lightly to keep her from running away. "In the eyes of a crazy girl... It doesn't really matter if you-" she struggled for the words, scratching her neck and whimpering as her fingers raked over the bandage. "If you like cherry stems, or cherry - um... Cheery pits." She snorted but her face became serious again.

Lana stared into her lap, biting her lip.

"Was Wendy that woman?"

Her teeth dug deeper into her lower lip. "Yeah."

"Where is she?"

_"There are people that will come looking for me."_

_"You think so?" _

"Sister Jude blackmailed my lover into signing me over to her for trespassing."

"Hot damn."

"No, it doesn't matter, Jen. It doesn't matter, because - you and I are getting out of this place."

**I'm really sorry, I know a LOT happened in this chapter. I know it might seem a little bit confusing but I think the next chapter will pay off. I'm sorry if this is a little rough. If you have questions or ideas, please tell me! Thanks! **

**Fact: Wendy's favorite smell is caramel apples**

**Fact: The Beach boys debuted their single **_**Wendy **_**in 1964 on the Ed Sullivan show. Lana never heard the song before it was played on Briarcliff's record player, but it fits her situation almost perfectly, hence why it is used by Sister Mary Eunice to get a rise out of Jen. **

**Fact: Jen suffers from a class IV Hemorrhage of the uterus, and also a class II Hemorrhage of the drilled hole behind her ear. This is due to Dr. Arden's sadistic "experiments". **

**Bonus Fact: Jen's on,y reasoning for deciding not to join Sachath on the other side is because of Lana. This is for an unknown reason. **


End file.
